


For the Future

by utsu



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Found Family, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-24 01:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 56,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4900660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/utsu/pseuds/utsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hinata understands this better than anyone else. </p><p>Naruto is easy to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everyone thinks that her power is in her eyes.

They’re not entirely wrong; there _is_ power in her eyes, Byakugan bright, depthless and piercing. She can see things no one else in the world outside of the strongest in her clan can see, can focus on a bee’s dedicated honey-gathering nearly twenty kilometers into the distance with perfect clarity. With only one obscured weak spot in her vision, it follows that those around her might pinpoint the source of her power in her lavender gaze.

Those that know her better think her power is in her hands.

They’re not entirely wrong, either. Her hands are weapons, chakra-scalpel sharp and quicker than a hurricane’s winds. Her wrists, smooth and flexible, allow her an increased range of motion that not even Neji could reciprocate. Her fingers only fray in battle; before she can heal them, sew the tissues of them back together with the very same energy in her palms. Her hands _are_ powerful, but they just aren’t the _source_.

No one ever really expects her heart 

But they learn.

 

✧ 

 

After Pain laid waste to her village, leaving nothing but craters in his wake, the people of Konoha came together. Despair clung to the air, acidic and dark and destructive, leeching away at those left behind by their deceased loved ones, who died too early to be brought back.

Despair is strong. It’s hardy. It fights and it fights and it _takes_ until there’s nothing left to take, and then it moves on to someone else, somewhere else. It doesn’t give up, it doesn’t back down. It could very well have been the final nail in the coffin, the first and last successful destroyer of the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

Except that something stronger resided in Konoha, something bright and soft and overwhelmingly _good_ that lived in the heart of someone who knew how to wield it like a weapon.

Despair didn’t stand a chance against Uzumaki Naruto.

Brighter than a sunrise and just as welcoming, Naruto rose up from the ashes and set the village back into motion, pouring into it an endless devotion unlike anything anyone had ever seen, or felt, or known.

His smile was the wistful beads of dew on blades of grass too early in the morning, when only those who’d lived more than half of their lives were awake to treasure them. His laughter was the breeze they could no longer hear whispering through the trees, cascading over their skin like a soothing caress, a wordless promise.

His actions, as he picked the people of Konoha back up and set them on their feet; as he pushed his hands into the dirt beneath him and set the seeds of the new first trees of Konoha into the ground; as he spread his hands over the blueprints he’d helped request to be made, showing the first signs of buildings that dreamt of piercing the clouds; as his hands fell lightly onto the shoulders of his brothers and sisters of the Hidden Leaf, encouraging them to fight, to fight, to _fight_ and never give _up_ ; his hands.

His hands.

His eyes.

Under his watch, Konoha rebuilt itself, repopulated with trees, lush vegetation, buildings, businesses and shops, wires and technology uprooted and upgraded. Under his watch, Konoha became something _beautiful_ again, and thrived.

Hyuuga Hinata knows, now, that everyone can finally see what she’s seen all along—that Naruto’s heart is the strongest part of him, stronger even than his hands that can wield spinning blades of pulsing chakra, hands that can bruise and break and which never give up. That his heart has always been the _key_ , and every single person who has ever come into contact with Naruto has been an unknowing lock, waiting to be set free.

That Naruto has always, always been the kind of person one should admire.

Because he is strong, in the only way that matters.

In heart.

That’s where their story begins. Of course it is.

Her heart recognized his from the very beginning.

 

✧

 

Haruno Sakura throws a mean punch. This is, quite drastically, the greatest understatement of the century. Hinata rubs the ribs Sakura had just helped her heal from the cracked frail things they’d been just minutes before, wincing. Sparring with Sakura is always many things—fun, surprising, and never, ever boring.

It is also exhausting, and terrifying, and usually in the top five best things to happen to Hinata every week.

She glances over to where Sakura examines a scroll and scoots closer to the shelf to let a fellow customer walk past. The shop they’re in smells of incense and parcel, with delicate wind chimes dangling from the ceiling. They turn slowly, quietly, their music barely audible in the slight breeze coming in from the front door. Sakura doesn’t take her eyes from the scroll in her hands when she asks, “What’re your plans for today?”

“I wonder,” Hinata begins, humming lightly. She runs her fingers, still slightly frayed and still healing from their sparring, over the crystal-smooth handle of an intricate kunai hanging from the ceiling just in front of her.

At that, Sakura glances over her shoulder, tucking the scroll decidedly into her hand basket.

“What about this week? Any plans?”

Hinata casts a curious smile in Sakura’s direction, tucking her hair behind her ear. She sighs, lifting a hand to tick off her fingers.

“Many. Tomorrow I’m gardening with Shino; we’ve been testing new medicinal ointments from our own unique blends. Once we have something worthwhile, I’ll call you over, Sakura-san.”

“Please do.” Sakura nods, and they shuffle into another isle, this one lined with protective gear and what seem to be old, dusty tomes. The sun spills in through the shop like a golden haze, illuminating every flickering particle of dust that rises from the old tomes into something wispy and enchanting. Sakura sniffs, and sneezes as delicately as a lion’s roar.

“Friday I’m sparring with Kiba and Akamaru. I have a few shifts I will be covering at Ino’s shop this weekend, and dinner plans with Chouji and the rest of my team.”

“Quite the social butterfly,” Sakura smiles, and there’s nothing mocking in her tone, just simple admiration. Her smile is beautiful, genuine and bright, and it reflects on Hinata’s face, too. “Don’t forget you also have a dinner date with _me_ , this weekend. My feelings will be hurt if you forget about me.”

“How could I forget?” Hinata laughs, eyes crinkling at the sides. She turns to the shelf and purses her lips, reading a few titles over her head until one in particular catches her eyes. Standing on the tips of her toes, she reaches up for it and feels the dust on the cover smudge under her fingertip. It’s heavier than she’d thought, the spine creaking when she opens it.

There’s a moment of silence between the two of them, long and comfortable while Hinata reads the first few pages of a chapter on sealing jutsu and Sakura digs through a sale bin of used kunai. Sakura is the one to break the silence, hesitantly, carefully, her voice poised for just the right tone; it makes Hinata stiffen instantly, because she knows that expression, and she knows what’s coming. It’s not the reason she flinches, not really, she’s used to talking with Sakura about Naruto. It’s the reminder, every time the subject is broached, that Sakura is careful with her—that Sakura is so kind; gentle enough to handle even the topic of Naruto with caution so as to ensure Hinata’s continued contentment.

She hates that she stiffens, because she knows Sakura misreads it, and also because she’s tired of being surprised that people care about her so much. She has grown enough in confidence to know that much.

“So,” Sakura begins, scuffing the toe of her boot across the floor in a careless arc, still searching the sale bins. “Anything new with Naruto?”

Hinata makes sure that Sakura can see the softening of her expression, fond and doting, and the placid slope of her own smile. “Ah, Sakura-san. You would know better than I.”

Sakura deflates at once, visibly, and the scowl that overtakes her striking features reminds Hinata of the last time she’d seen Naruto and Sakura spar with each other. It had not ended well. Trees had been involved. And, ultimately, hospital care.

“Idiot,” Sakura grumbles, cursing Naruto. Hinata sighs, lips still curled around a grin. “He’s so clueless.”

“This isn’t an excuse,” Hinata starts, tucking the tome in her hands up under her arm, deciding to purchase it. “But he _is_ kind of busy, as of late.”

Sakura bounces to her full height and stretches her legs, loosening the tension in her knees caused by crouching. She casts narrowed eyes at Hinata, obviously making sure that Hinata is being honest about not making excuses for him. Hinata lets her look, has maybe even grown to encourage it. She may love the man, more than anything, but she won’t make excuses for him. Not when it’s serious.

Sakura bobs her head in assent, and comes close enough to drag a single fingertip down the spine of the tome tucked under Hinata’s arm. She pulls it away with a frown of disgust, scoffing at the dust. Hinata merely shakes her head, gesturing towards the storeowner at the front. Sakura shrugs and leads the way with a hand basket filled to the brim with used kunai and a few scrolls. Hinata catches sight of the word _genjutsu_ and smiles, knowing that Naruto’s next sparring match with Sakura is going to be a good one.

Not that there are ever really any _bad_ ones. Sakura had gotten into the habit of challenging multiple people to spar with her at once, a hobby of sorts. Hinata knows better than that, though. She knows that Sakura still carries the weight of Naruto and Sasuke leaving her behind in the village, of Kakashi largely ignoring her training, of having to pick herself up and get her feet solidly underneath her all on her own.

It may have been the best thing to ever happen to her, though certainly also the most painful.

Hinata does not know what it feels like to be abandoned by one’s teammates, not anything so painful as that. But she does know what it feels like to be continuously underestimated and disregarded, to be put down for not being the _best_ , and by the very people who are supposed to love her most.

And she, too, had sought training from more than just her team after news of Sasuke leaving the village had spread. Not because she’d been alone, or necessarily in need of it, but because she had wanted it. Rock Lee’s taijutsu training is still one of her favorites, probably, definitely because of how encouraging he is even as he leads her through grueling training regimen after training regimen. Shoji matches with Shikamaru are possibly even more grueling, just with less bruises and more headaches and frustration.

Sometimes, if she’s lucky, Shikaku will agree to play her. It isn’t _actually_ luck, though, not really. It’s resourcefulness; the man has indeterminate _routines_ , and she trained herself to learn them, just to be able to play him. His intelligence is stunning, his battlefield awareness shell-shockingly diverse. She has yet to beat him, but she’s come _close_ to beating Shikamaru, once, and they’d praised her for that.

And she’d learned early on that they don’t duel out unwarranted praise.

This routine is what eventually led to Hinata sparring with Sakura and Naruto, among several others of their year and even above it, on a bi-weekly basis. She’d never admit it to her friends, but her favorite sparring sessions are in the early mornings before even the birds are awake.

In those moments, she and Hanabi teach themselves how to be sisters of battle together. The re-learn each other outside of the clan’s expectations, and they laugh while they strike.

“A _steal_ ,” Sakura claims as they leave the shop, jostling her knapsack of kunai playfully. “I am literally the best bargain shopper there is. Am I not?”

“You certainly have a knack,” Hinata allows, grinning. Sakura purses her lips around a smile, obviously smug. In one quick motion, she flicks her hair out of her face and says; “Listen, you should ask Naruto on one of your dinner dates. He’d totally go, without question!”

Hinata doesn’t falter in her step, but she does feel her chest tighten impossibly, a heaviness settling between her ribs. Her expression clouds, her head swaying in a way that’s just this side of forlorn.

“I don’t know if I can,” she admits. “I already confessed. It’s his move now, right?”

“Wrong!” Sakura bursts, raising a petulant finger into the air. “You have to be persistent with that idiot, Hinata. He’s _clueless_. You could probably kiss him smack on the lips and he’d think you tripped into it or something.”

Hinata’s cheeks tint pink simply at the _thought_ of kissing Naruto, and then spill red when she thinks of doing even more than just kissing. She lifts a hand to her cheek and casts an amused, embarrassed laugh in Sakura’s direction. Sakura’s grin stretches her cheeks, and she snorts out a laugh of her own.

“People think you’re _so_ pure,” she starts, shaking her head. “But seriously, you should ask him. It doesn’t even have to be a date thing. We’re all friends, we can go to dinner together and it’ll be fun!”

“Do you think,” Hinata starts, before hesitating. She straightens her shoulders, confidence rekindled in seconds. “Do you think the others will want to get together, too?”

“What, like a big dinner party? That’s a great idea!”

 “Right?” Hinata agrees.

Sakura playfully strokes her chin and just barely avoids running into a group of Genin sprinting past them, further down the street. Hinata recognizes a few of them from one of Shino’s classes, and waves when they call out to her over their shoulders.

“Hoodlums,” Sakura sniffs, but there’s amusement in her eyes and fondness in the tilt of her lips.

 “So, when should we have the dinner?” Hinata asks, frowning. She thinks of the odds of getting _everyone_ together at one time and how dismal the reality of it seems. There certainly won’t be full attendance, not with the surplus of missions handed out lately. In fact, the more Hinata thinks about it, the more unlikely it seems that they’ll be able to finagle everyone’s schedules to get them together for a single night. Sakura seems to sense her mounting disappointment, though, and moves closer to her, one hand falling lightly on her shoulder.

“It’s okay if not everyone can make it. I know for a fact that _I_ will be free the weekend after this coming one. I can ask Naruto tomorrow when I see him. Who else should we invite?”

“Everyone?” Hinata squeaks, laughing a little. “I mean it. Why don’t we invite everyone we can think of and just see who all can make it?”

“Hm,” Sakura hums. “Definitely foolhardy enough to work. Alright.”

Sakura hefts her sack of kunai further up her shoulder and pounds her fist into her palm, effectively in the zone.

“Here’s the game plan. I’ll ask my team, you ask yours, then just ask anyone if you see them. Aim it for next weekend, any day.”

Hinata’s nod is meaningful, approving.

“Kurenai-sensei is on mission until next Friday,” Hinata smiles, thinking about her teacher with a fondness that’s nearly palpable. “But she never misses a dinner party.”

“Kakashi-sensei _always_ misses dinner parties. He’s so antisocial.”

Hinata snorts, moving courteously out of a woman’s way as she carries far too many sacks of flour into her shop. “Maybe,” she allows, “but he’s also Hokage. Not much time for dinner parties, I think.”

“Whatever.” Sakura sniffs; examining her painted nails, scratched and destroyed from her excessive use of her fists. Hinata wonders why she even bothers to paint them at all. Personal preference, maybe. “He’d never make it on time, anyways.”

That makes Hinata laugh. There’s not a single shinobi in Konoha above Genin level that doesn’t know about Hatake Kakashi’s infamous inability to arrive to anything on time, ever. Hinata is fairly certain he hadn’t even been on time to his own admittance ceremony.

“I’ll contact Genma-san,” Hinata adds, contemplative. She glances overhead and studies the softness of the slow-moving clouds, traveling listlessly across the autumn sky. “He comes into Ino’s shop often. I’m certain I’ll run into him when I cover some of her shifts.”

“Mm,” Sakura agrees cheerily, with an added bounce in her step. Hinata can’t help but mirror her; she, too, feels light and happy thinking about the impending dinner party. She can’t remember a time when her generation had gotten together and ever had a bad time, she truly can’t. Sure, some of them got into fights, some blood might’ve been spilt, and Rock Lee may have been tricked into running laps around Konoha to prove himself a couple times, but other than that?

Seamless, good fun amongst friends with lethal abilities.

“We don’t really have a reason for a party,” she sighs, pursing her lips. The words are empty, though. She’s radiating excitement at the mere prospect, and when she glances over to her side and sees Sakura’s resulting grin, quick and lethal, she knows she feels the same.

“We don’t need one.”

Hinata wonders if maybe, just maybe, she’s going to regret this decision.

 

✧

 

The next two weeks pass slowly. Agonizingly so.

Hinata is kept busy, however, with all of her different scheduled appointments with her friends, and even a few unscheduled—she’d caught Shikaku on a good evening, yet again, and couldn’t resist the temptation to try to defeat him. She’d lost in minutes. Twice.

She is always a good sport about it, of course, but the frustration can’t help but bleed into the present, making her focus nearly lethal. Shikaku doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, it amuses him. Shikamaru is usually as bored as ever, if he’s there, and though he doesn’t say it outright, she knows he can’t stand to watch her make what he deems to be foolish moves, and usually ends up making an excuse to leave.

By the time the morning before the dinner party rolls around, Hinata knows of at least eleven people that are definitely coming, and three that are not. Rock Lee and Gai-sensei are on an extended covert mission, rumored to be taking place in Kirigakure, and aren’t expected to return for several weeks, and Temari is already back in Suna with her brothers.

When Hinata had ventured over to Shikamaru’s place to ask him along, his father had answered the door. After greeting him with a measured amount of surprise to see him there, she’d inquired about Shikamaru. Shikaku explained that he had some classified business to attend to in Suna, and after a moment’s hesitation on his doorstep, Hinata extended the invitation to Shikaku.

“I’d love it if you came,” she tells him, utterly genuine. She watches his resulting smile unfurl with open warmth, and remembers his quiet laughter the last time they’d played and she’d thought she had him on the ropes. It’s clear, even to Hinata, that the man has a soft spot a mile wide for her, one he apparently doesn’t mind showcasing. Even still, he shakes his head with a huff, leaning bodily against the doorframe with arms crossed over his chest.

“Not my style, really.” He says, blinking down at her. “But thank you for the invite.”

“Ah, of course. Enjoy your weekend!” she backs away from the porch with a low bow, utterly respectful. Just as she turns to head out of the compound, Shikaku clears his throat, calling back her attention.

“Naruto,” he starts, before wavering to chew listlessly on his lip. Hinata’s heart suddenly feels like a bastion firing in her chest, the surprise making her falter in her step. “Is he gonna be there?”

“I’m,” Hinata stumbles over her words, just a bit, just enough to broadcast her surprise. “I’m actually not certain, Nara-san.”

Hinata wonders if, for some strange reason she can’t quite understand, Naruto’s presence at the party would incite Shikaku to want to attend. So as to not be rude, even while totally confused, she diffidently offers, “I can ask Sakura-san and let you know beforehand? If you’d like.”

“Oh no, no,” Shikaku straightens, shaking his head and waving a hand as he pulls away from the doorframe. “Don’t bother. Too troublesome.”

“Ah,” Hinata responds quietly, bobbing her head in acceptance. The breeze turns the tails of her hair over her shoulder, the deeply saturated strands long enough to extend out in front of her. She tucks some of them back behind her left ear, a nervous gesture, and Shikaku sighs.

“Just, if that guy is there? Be careful, okay? You’re a good kid.”

Hinata frowns, confused. She still feels slightly embarrassed, even now, especially now, when she doesn’t understand something Nara Shikaku says. She knows that it’s not really her fault; he finds conversations so troublesome he usually doesn’t speak in anything but a disjointed manner, but still. It somehow feels like a deficiency on her end, simply because he’s so intelligent.

“Naruto-kun would never hurt me.”

“What a drag,” Shikaku sighs to himself, the words barely substantial enough to even be heard. He runs a hand through his hair, then, in a more discernable tone, he says, “Sometimes even good people don’t know they’re harming someone, is all I’m saying. So just, take care of yourself, kid.”

Hinata studies his expression, pinched in inward frustration, eyes still heavy and tired. She can hear movement behind him, knows without having to guess that his wife is in the kitchen preparing lunch with loud curses when things don’t necessarily go her way. Hinata’s lips curl into the smallest of smiles, despite her confusion. She nods her head, bows slightly once more.

“Thank you,” she says. “I will.”

When she heads through the massive gates leading out of the Nara Compound, she somehow feels lighter than she had before, as if Shikaku’s strange concerns had released some tension in her. Still a bit confused, she heads determinedly back to her apartment, wanting to get ready.

It’s not that she’s going to dress much differently; she’ll still be wearing her shinobi gear, her normal outfit, her weapons included. But the prospect of a party, of many of their friends coming together for laughter and story-telling and good times, makes her want to do something different. A painted lip, maybe, or a ponytail. Something different.

Hinata wanders through the already-busy streets of Konoha, calling out quiet greetings when she recognizes someone, or is recognized by others. She makes her way past Ino’s shop, poking her head in and reminding Ino of what time the party starts with a obvious cheer, laughing when Ino pantomimes the kind of dancing she plans on doing later that night. She goes out on a limb and asks for suggestions on how to change up her look, just slightly, and receives a healthy amount of advice from someone who knows beauty tips, and a flower to join her on her way back home.

Hinata’s fingers twist gently around the stem of the yellow camellia in her hand, twirling it slowly with a jittery smile. She feels anticipatory for no reason other than having an event to attend, even if it is just something silly amongst friends. Her nerves feel aflame, her cheeks flushed, her hands shaking.

 

✧

 

Hinata decides to leave her lips un-painted, though she does apply a generous amount of balm to keep them from chapping. The weather is at a point where it’s colder now than it is hot, with autumn fast bleeding into the icy chill of winter. She does, however, tie her hair up into a high tail, blushing slightly in the mirror when she sees how open this leaves her face. She fidgets with her bangs for a moment, tugging lightly on them with her fingertips, when she hears Tenten at her door.

Hinata had stumbled across Tenten a few days prior at one of her favorite training grounds, freshly returned from a solo mission. She’d been looking all over the village for the other girl for days beforehand, unknowing of her absence.

Ever since her cousin had sacrificed his life to protect her in the war against Pain, she’d kept in close contact with Tenten. Even when it was difficult, when Tenten just couldn’t handle the reminder of his death, and the way Hinata looks so much like him, a constant, living reminder of his absence. But when Tenten had needed someone desperately, Hinata had made sure to be there. It was the least she could do, and not even close to the amount of things she _wanted_ to do for Tenten, but it was a safe middle ground for the both of them.

It took them a long time to get comfortable with each other, but Hinata knew from the times she’d shared closely with Neji that Tenten didn’t just warm up to anyone. She’s a fighter, through and through, even when it comes to friendships.

Hinata admires her strength more than most.

They’d decided to arrive to the party together, though Hinata was still a little concerned about being fashionably late. Tenten insisted that she’d be ready sort of close to the time of the party, and that if Hinata wanted she could go on ahead, but Hinata _didn’t_ want that. So she’d waited. And now, thirty minutes after the official start-time, Tenten is finally at her door. Hinata abandons her bathroom mirror without a second thought, slipping into her sandals and greeting Tenten brightly.

“Ready!” Tenten exclaims, hands knuckled on her hips and stance wide. She raises a brow at Hinata’s hair, nodding approvingly. Hinata catches the tail end of Ko, her warden of sorts, as he moves around the corner. He must’ve been the one to let Tenten into the compound, and was polite enough to leave them to their devices once he’d delivered her to Hinata’s doorstep.

Hinata and Tenten fall into stride beside each other and head for the bar Sakura had suggested; some place a few blocks off from Ichiraku Ramen. Hinata is certain that this, more than anything else, would entice Naruto to attend the party no matter his possible commitments. Hinata feels overcome with affection for Sakura, and the sly way she’s able to maneuver people to accommodate herself and her loved ones.

Tenten chats her ear off, talking mostly with her hands as they head towards the place. It’s that time of the evening when the sun is just barely visible, tucked in the crests of distant mountains, the sky an overturned bucket of wasted sunrise hues, darkly saturated with the passage of time. There’s more of a chill to the night than Hinata had expected; she shrugs further into her jacket and laughs freely at a retelling of Tenten’s mission and the ridiculous man she’d encountered along the way.

“He was _plastered_ ,” Tenten goes on, wrinkles appearing by her eyes as she laughs around the words. Hinata looks up at her and beams, taking in the story and feeling overtly affectionate, as she always does whenever Tenten shares something as personal as this with her.

“Well, if you smacked him through the wall of a house, then he was _literally_ plastered.” Hinata adds, cheeks heating without her awareness at her silly joke. Tenten laughs so hard she smacks her palm against her own thigh, pointing at Hinata and saying, “ _Exactly!_ ”

She’s still laughing by the time they make it to the place, a dingy but well-structured building big enough to house a small army. Hinata gapes at the sheer size of it, wondering how she’d never recognized it before. With a quick glance around her, she realizes they’re in an area quite unfamiliar to her; it’s a section of Konoha that’s still being built, and on land that had not previously been built upon before Pain’s attack.

They step through the doors with polite greetings to the hosts at the front, and almost immediately Kiba catches sight of them and rallies all of the troops to hoot and holler at their arrival.

“ _Finally_ ,” he groans as they make their way over to the massive row of tables aligned along the wall, all of which are overtaken by shinobi of her generation. She even sees a few older jounin; that’s definitely Shiranui Genma in the corner already guzzling down a drink, and she catches a quick glance of Yamato over by the bar. Sakura is already on the dance floor with Sai, Chouji, and Shino, of all people. Sai seems to be attempting to paint while shuffling his feet, and Chouji passionately pumps his fist to the beat as Sakura skirts around him gracefully, perfectly in rhythm. Shino stands near Sai, bobbing his head with hands tucked in his pockets.

Hinata knows him well enough to read the tiny stretch of his exposed face, to see that he’s enjoying himself, that he’s most certainly smiling. He nods his head in her direction, a greeting she lifts a hand to return, beaming. Kiba sidles up next to her and gives her a sloppy hug from the side, careless and quick. She doesn’t even have time to fully wrap an arm around him before he’s bumping knuckles with Tenten, then conspiratorially shielding his mouth to tell them, “Akamaru is under the third table on our right. _Don’t_ look that way, the bartenders are already onto us.”

Hinata frowns. “He’s a ninken. They should allow him entrance.”

Tenten laughs, shaking her head. “He’s still a fluffy, furry, allergy-inducing puppy, though.”

“Puppy?” Ino’s voice suddenly appears behind them, amused. “Akamaru is bigger than all four of us put _together_.”

When her presence is noted, the same round of hoots and hollers draws to an uproar, and Genma sits to attention so quick he spills beer on himself. Ino merely flips her hair over her shoulder at the ruckus, one hand finding Hinata’s shoulder and squeezing lightly.

“Love the hair,” she whispers, just loud enough to be heard over the pounding music and the low thrum of constant conversation. Hinata runs her fingers through the long tail of her hair self-consciously and thanks her, smiling so wide she isn’t certain the corners of her lips will ever come back down. Ino threads her way over to Sakura and announces her presence by slapping her on the butt before giving Sai a peck on the cheek. She hugs Chouji as far around his middle as she can reach, nestling into his chest as he laughs and returns the embrace. Hinata watches her hesitate, then lift a hand to greet Shino with only the slightest of delays.

The interaction, the awkwardness of it, floods Hinata with amusement. Ino moves on and is clearly perturbed with the encounter, but Hinata watches Shino’s face, his body language, and knows he’s content. Kiba ushers both Tenten and Hinata over to the corner where Akamaru can just barely be seen under the largest table tucked against the wall, and asks what drinks he can get for them. Hinata immediately shakes her head, as Tenten orders something that sounds especially dangerous, even for shinobi. Kiba squints at Hinata for a moment, asks, “You sure?”

Hinata thinks on it, for just a moment, and catches sight of the thriving dancers and her friends all locked in conversations of their own. Everyone is having such a good time, loose and content to not have to worry about much for the night. It’s obvious that they’re all still on alert, they can’t _not_ be, but they don’t let it stop them from having fun.

Feeling energized and just this side of on-edge, Hinata meets Kiba’s eyes.

“Something light?” she poses, knowing that Kiba will understand. He bares his teeth, lifting his hand with pointer and thumb touching.

“Got it!”

Hinata finds herself on her own for only a moment before some older jounin approach her, seamlessly inviting her into their conversation. She’d been alone for less than a minute, but it’d been enough to note that a certain village hero is not present, at least not yet.

Hinata doesn’t let herself feel crestfallen; she straightens her shoulders and participates in the conversation, trying not to play with her hair too much in response to overly fried nerves. She catches sight of Sakura heading past, towards the bar where someone with conspicuously white hair and who looks suspiciously like one honorable Hokage is seated, and nods her head when Sakura mouths, _you okay?_

The only jounin that Hinata is familiar with in her circle is Namiashi Raido, most often seen alongside Genma. He’s rather quiet compared to the four others, but Hinata likes the gentle air of him.

By the time Kiba comes back with her drink, a martini with a lemon peel twisted around the rim that he _promises_ is barely even alcoholic at all, she’s glad for the distraction. The jounin had fallen into a circuit of semi-inside jokes that, while confusing, were still humorous. She certainly doesn’t mind excusing herself, though, to let them continue with their fun without hindering them by needing explanations.

She wanders over and finds Sakura returned from the bar and chatting with Ino and Genma about elemental jutsu conspiracy theories, of all things. She settles herself on the free barstool across from Genma and listens as he and Ino argue about whether or not some odd infamous nukenin had more than two elemental chakras.

Sakura turns to her with a roll of her eyes. “They’ve been like this the entire time Ino’s been here. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they hate each other.”

“Right here, forehead. I’m right _here_.”

“I know you can hear me,” Sakura retorts, taking a delicate sip of her drink. “I just don’t care.”

Ino flips her hair so that the tail end of it smacks Sakura on the shoulder, with just enough of a whip-like force to leave a sting behind. Sakura hisses, patting the area.

“Such a baby,” Ino jibes, turning back to Genma. “Are you for real? He did not have more than three elemental chakras. You know who has more than three elemental chakras? Fuckin’ nobody.”

Hinata interrupts, voice low but insistent. “What about Hokage-sama?”

Ino flaps her hand at the same time that Sakura purses her lips and shrugs her shoulders.

“He doesn’t count. Copy-cat.”

“How does that not count?” Genma demands, slamming a hand on the table. “He definitely has more than three! So what if he copied them, he can still _do_ them.”

“Doesn’t,” Ino sings threateningly, “ _count_.”

Genma shakes his head, staring at her in disgust. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet you still love me.”

“Who knows why.”

Ino gives him an affronted look; one hand perched against her chest.

“I do,” she says, matter of fact. “Because I’m wonderful.”

“Wonderful?” Genma snorts. “Wonderful at what? Being a baby?”

“At everything, really. Most especially mind-sifting. Why don’t I take a little look?”

Ino leans towards him, pretends like she’s going to apply her jutsu, then sits back with a click of her tongue.

“Ooh, sorry, I forgot. Won’t be able to find a thing in there, will I?”

Sakura chokes, bringing a clenched fist up to her lips to cough into. She casts wide, amused eyes at Hinata, who discreetly rubs at her mouth to hide a smile of her own.

“Damn,” Sakura whispers, shaking her head. Ino beams behind her, utterly self-satisfied. Genma looks positively affronted, and maybe like he wants to throw a punch but is worried about the outcome of his safety. Instead of following _that_ tragic path, he turns to Hinata and points a thumb at Ino.

“I don’t know how you’re friends with her. You’re so sweet, and she’s so…”

“Wonderful,” Ino and Sakura both say at the same time, before bursting into laughter. Both of their cheeks are pink with mirth, their smiles nearly as sharp-edged as their eyes. In the most drab of tones, Genma says, “…Yeah.”

“And anyways,” Ino straightens, still laughing a little. “What are you trying to do? Hinata wants nothing to do with you. Don’t give her those pathetic puppy eyes, her heart is _taken_.”

Hinata doesn’t deny it, doesn’t respond much at all but to take a prolonged sip of her drink. Sakura nods beside her, swaying a little in her seat. She could sober herself up in an instant, with her level of medical jutsu, but Hinata supposes that even Sakura, the renowned workaholic, likes to kick back and relax sometimes. For many shinobi, alcohol becomes a crutch.

For Haruno Sakura, it’s a temporary vacation.

“Yeah?” Genma says, brows hitched high. Something in his voice brings Hinata back into the conversation, her eyes tracing the air between Genma and her two friends with curiosity. “She looks free as a breeze to me!”

“You interested?” Ino asks, and suddenly her tone is deeper, more severe. Sakura’s eyes light like fires and she starts tapping the fingers of her free hand against the table, a persistent _thud-thud-thud-thud_ that Hinata can hear even over the pounding of the music. Hinata watches the way the question and that sudden change in tone makes Genma visibly squirm in his seat and almost smiles. Almost.

Genma glances Hinata’s way, shaking his head in a way that reads as apologetic.

“It’s okay,” she laughs, saving him when he seemed to be floundering deeper and deeper in a tide he no longer had control over. Ino casts her a depreciating look, but it’s brief and there isn’t much steel to it.

Genma swallows, heavily, and then he says, “not me.”

Their table falls to silence, as much as can be allotted in a bar filled to bursting with people talking and laughing and dancing, with music blaring overhead, the clinking of glasses, and the thudding of heels on hardwood flooring. Ino leans threateningly into Genma’s personal space, her smile saccharine sweet. Sakura reinforces her from behind, cornering Genma in the lines of her body language, every bit of her severe. Her lips part to show far too many teeth.

Hinata, for all her part in this, simply blinks at them in wonder, before settling her gaze on the shift in Genma’s throat as he swallows.

“Genma-kun,” Ino sings, “you’re holding out on us?”

“You have such a nice voice, Genma-kun,” Sakura adds, swirling her drink in what can only be deemed an ominous gesture. Only Haruno Sakura could make glass swirling look threatening. “Let’s hear it sing.”

Hinata’s heart pounds in her ears, or maybe it’s the bass, or the thundering steps of dancing feet on the floor, she isn’t entirely certain. Somewhere near the front room there’s a commotion, louder than any they’d heard prior, but Hinata, Sakura, and Ino are all too focused on Genma to even budge enough to glance in that direction. Regardless of what’s happening, or who had just walked into the place, it is clear that Ino and Sakura intend to get every bit of Genma’s secrets out in the air between them. Hinata isn’t even certain they won’t pull out weapons, or even worse, their fists.

She can’t say that she’s completely disconnected from them, either. Her curiosity over his words has something strange and new and not entirely _bad_ stirring in her stomach, giving her chills. She’s certain that he’s implying that he knows of someone that is interested in her, but what she isn’t certain of is _who_. She can’t think of a single person that stands out as trying to gain her attention any more so than usual.

“A secret is a secret for a _reason_ ,” Genma stalls, pushing away slightly from the table. The movement isn’t retreat in its complete form, but it’s unquestionably defensive. Ino’s hand moves and Hinata knows without having to look under the table that she’s placed it carefully on his thigh. Genma licks his dry lips.

“We love secrets,” Sakura says. “We can totally keep secrets, right Ino?”

“Totally,” Ino promises, smoothing a fingertip around the rim of her glass. Unlike Hinata and Sakura, the liquid in her drink is not transparent; it’s honey-amber deep and looks just as thick, like something that would burn a hot trail all the way through to her stomach. Hinata reminds herself to never get on Yamanaka Ino’s bad side, ever.

“Hinata?” Sakura asks, and Hinata realizes every occupant at their little table is looking at her. Ino and Sakura look expectant, sneering like predators. Genma looks as though he regrets eating lunch, or breakfast, or anything at all today. Hinata gives him an amused look, but one with steel behind it all the same.

“I’m naturally reticent.” She admits, which isn’t news. But then she glances up at him from under her eyelashes and her voice has mirth mixed into every syllable.

“But I _am_ a little curious.”

Genma punctuates her statement by letting his forehead drop to the table with a smack, uncaring of the mark it’s sure to leave behind. Ino sips at her drink, pinky up, and snorts.

“Drama queen, much?”

“What do you _want_ from me?” Genma groans into the table, rolling his head back and forth as though in agony. Hinata has to agree with Ino, he is rather dramatic. But then she thinks, maybe that’s why they go so well together. Hinata lifts her drink again, not really to take a drink but to have something cold to press against her lips. She mouths at the rim of her glass for a moment, ignoring the still boisterous chaos happening behind her. There are what Hinata believes to be welcomes being called, but they’re drowned out by the music.

Sakura responds to Genma’s plea immediately, no holds barred.

“I want names.”

“I want _faces_ to those names,” Ino chimes in.

Genma looks like he’s swallowed something sour. “I can give you faces,” he wheezes, clearly trying to find a loophole. Hinata admires his attempt, but even she knows that he can probably do better than this. Then again, it’s a lot of pressure to have not only interrogator extraordinaire Yamanaka Ino hounding you, but the Godaime Hokage’s own apprentice, too? Truly, Hinata thinks sympathetically, he never stood a chance.

Ino taps a finger against her chin, the nail of which is painted a pretty shade of rose. Her tone is contemplative, and just this side of explicitly smug.

“Actually, I can probably put faces to the names anyways.”

If possible, Genma deflates even further. Sakura, known for being as impatient as her mentor, twitches. Hinata doesn’t have enough time to warn him before Sakura’s foot bursts forward and clocks him in the shin under the table, sending him sitting upright with a howl.

“Nice.” Ino admits proudly.

“Effective.” Sakura counters, smirking. Hinata can’t help but laugh a little, even when it means that she incurs Genma’s wrathful stare.

“I’m _definitely_ reporting this to them. They think you’re a sweetheart! _I_ thought you were a sweetheart! You’re just a _quiet_ cutthroat.” He glances at Ino and Sakura, blandly sipping from their drinks, as if this conversation doesn’t interest them in the slightest. “Still better than loudmouths, though.”

“Would you like me to introduce my foot to your _other_ shin?” Sakura asks, genuinely inquiring. Genma scowls, bringing his injured shin up and holding his leg tucked against him.

“No, thanks.”

“Tick tock,” Ino sighs, suddenly turning the full force of her sea green stare on him. He squirms like a bacterium on a microscope slide, and spills right off the edge.

“Okay, alright.” He exhales through his teeth, eyes clenched shut. “Izumo…comes to mind.”

“Izumo?” Ino sits up, pulling herself away from Genma ever so slightly. “Kamizuki Izumo?”

Genma opens his eyes to glare at her, hesitantly letting his leg return back under the table. He glances distrustfully at Sakura, but she only shrugs. “You know him?”

“Yeah,” Ino nods, glancing over to gauge Hinata’s expression. She’s honestly so surprised by the news that she doesn’t even know what her friends might be seeing. She puts a face to the name and pictures Izumo, quiet and responsible, expressing an interest in her. It’s difficult to imagine, mostly because he’s never really approached her outside of his duties, which, did those even count?

“He’s _old_.” Sakura suddenly grunts, clearly disapproving. She flicks her eyes over to Hinata to gauge her reaction, though. Hinata knows that she has her best interests in mind, and only wants what’s best for her. And maybe she’s a little biased in wanting Hinata to get together with Naruto because they’re all so close. Naruto is practically her brother, and Hinata is one of her dearest friends, after all.

But Hinata knows, with that single glance, that if she expressed interest in Kamizuki Izumo, Sakura would support her. She’d interrogate the life right out of the guy, most definitely, but her heart would be in the right place. Hinata knows that both Ino and Sakura just want her to be happy, regardless of the who or the how that makes it so.

“He’s not that old.” Ino and Genma both grumble simultaneously. They catch each other’s eyes with sudden amusement, a silent inside joke playing between them. Then, in the blink of an eye, she’s right back to business. “Who else?”

Genma’s eye twitches. “I’m not really familiar with either of them, but one of them is a newly appointed jounin. Dusty hair, fair complexion. Really pretty guy.”

Ino raises an eyebrow and Genma scowls it back down. “And the other?”

“Not really familiar with him at all,” Genma begins, stroking his chin. It seems that now that he’s talking, he doesn’t feel that same remorse for giving up his comrades in the name of love. His words spill over like a cascade, smooth and uninterrupted. “He’s a seasoned chuunin, about to take the jounin exam. I think he has black hair?”

“That really narrows it down,” Sakura remarks sassily, rolling her eyes. She tips back in her seat, balancing on the back legs of her barstool. Hinata might be wrong, but she seems abruptly, genuinely disinterested with the conversation. She watches her glance over her shoulder, eyes searching indolently through the crowd, sifting up and over people until something suddenly catches her eye and holds it. Her lips lift into a sincere smile, her eyes bright as stars, but before Hinata can ask her about the change, she gets distracted again by the secrets Genma continues to spill.

“Sora!” he snaps his fingers, punctuating his realization. Even the air around him feels smug, Hinata thinks, as her mind races around the revealed name. “His name is Sora. Some migrant from who knows where. Let me tell you something; he ain’t good enough for you. Sassy little shit with a lot of attitude. Pretty, though.”

“Is every guy you meet pretty?” Ino snarls into her drink, taking a generous swig. Sakura suddenly lets her barstool slam back onto all of its legs and is up and out of her seat the next instant, heading for the entrance. Hinata spares a moment to wonder who she sees that has her so energized before her mind starts racing around newly revealed names, three actual people that apparently want to get to know her better. It seems unreal to her, in all truthfulness; she can’t remember the last time she had ever realized someone liked her.

A few boys had complimented her hair, and many other kids asked her about her eyes, but that didn’t really seem like anything substantial. A girl two years her senior, beautiful and confident and gentler than anything Hinata had ever known, had asked her on a couple of dates before. Mei, Hinata remembers. They’d remained friends after Hinata eventually admitted to having feelings for someone else, and then Mei had gone to war. Hinata had not heard from her since, and some part of her, aching and cold, tells her she won’t. She just won’t.

After that, the only person who stands out had been a chuunin boy, just after she’d advanced to chuunin rank, the one who had complimented her fighting technique after seeing her spar for the first time. He’d been funny, and kind, but Hinata had been overwhelmingly focused on growing stronger—strong enough to be worthy of protecting her loved ones. She can’t remember what ever happened to him; he’d had dusty hair, and he had definitely been pretty.

Her thoughts whirl through her mind, tangling and snagging at the edges. Three people seeking her attention? At once?

“What?” Genma grunts, slurping at his beer. “There’s a lot of pretty guys here, sue me.”

“Maybe I should go find one then, huh?”

“Hey, hey, simmer down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Why? You love it so much when we’re alone.”

Ino looks at Hinata, in a pointed, glaringly plain gesture. “Yeah, when we’re _alone_.”

Genma simply shakes his head, sending another apologetic look Hinata’s way. He turns back to Ino and says, “You’re a riot, you know that?”

“Of course.” She responds icily, finishing off her drink. “I need another drink.”

“I thought mine was the tongue you wanted to loosen tonight?”

“About that,” Ino agrees, nodding her head. She’s back on the trail that quick, like a bloodhound, and Genma sighs in defeat once more. “Where can I find these guys? I have to make sure they’re not sleazebags.”

She turns to Hinata and points playfully at Genma. “Can never be too careful!”

“Rude,” Genma chirps, but seems rather unaffected by the implication, as if he’s both used to it and just generally unbothered by being indirectly called a sleazebag. “And damn, Ino, I don’t know. I don’t make it my business to track down Hinata’s suitors every day of my life, okay?”

Ino simply stares at him, blinking slowly. Genma’s next sigh sounds more like the air is being forced out of him than gently, voluntarily expelled. Hinata has half a mind to be genuinely worried.

“Okay, I _just so happen_ to know that the dusty-haired guy spends a lot of his time at the east training grounds.”

Ino’s eyes light up at the exact moment that Hinata’s widen, her lips parting ever so slightly. Ino glances at her, understanding snapping electric between them, and then her eyes slide past her and lock onto something in the distance that seems to fire her up even more.

Ino speaks the words they already recognize out loud, her eyes never leaving the spot over Hinata’s shoulder. They flutter until she’s looking through her eyelashes, sultry and secretive, Ino at her most mischievous.

“That’s right behind the Hyuuga compound.”

“Yup.” Genma nods, unaware of Ino’s sudden shift in interest.

“ _What._ ” Ino inhales, rejuvenated with the conversation. Hinata thinks to look over her shoulder, curious at what could hold her gaze like that, but Ino directs her next questions at her, locking her into the conversation. “Have you noticed anyone, Hinata? Sandy-haired? Pretty?”

“No?” Hinata answers, backtracking through her memories to see if anyone fits that bill. “I don’t think so?”

Ino flaps a hand at her, abruptly dismissive. Her expression settles, and she pauses long enough to concern Hinata. Then, with a deliberate air about her, she adds in a voice too loud to just be for Hinata, “You probably weren’t paying attention anyways. Too much on your mind besides pretty boys that want to kiss you, right?”

Sputtering, both at the change in volume and the abrupt mention of _kissing_ —thinking about people wanting to get to know her is one thing, but outright admitting that they might want to kiss and hold her? An entirely _other_ thing, one that she is not quite prepared for. She feels blood rush over her cheeks and up into her ears, and even though she’d felt self-conscious about her ponytail earlier, she’s never been happier for it than now. The air inside the bar is hot, swelling with bodies and voices, but the movement passes the slightest of breezes over her bare neck, cooling her down.

She opens her mouth to respond, to deny, anything really to persuade Ino off of _this_ particular trail when a deeper voice moves over hers.

“Pretty boys want to kiss Hinata?” Naruto asks, coming into view just over Hinata’s shoulder. If she had thought her cheeks were hot before, then they are alive in flame, now. She can even feel the nape of her neck heating, for heaven’s sake.

Naruto’s voice cuts through the music with ease, deep and inquisitive, hinting at some emotion Hinata’s already muddled thoughts can’t quite grasp, but still manage to find surprising, coming from him. Sakura stands just over his shoulder, making eyes at Ino, and Hinata knows she should be watching the two of them because clearly they know something she doesn’t, but she can’t take her eyes off of Naruto. He looks impossibly tall standing over her, his hair in its usual state of disarray, longer than he usually wears it.

He brings a hand up to her back and smiles down at her in greeting, just that easily, his voice a shadow of a breath against her ear. “Hey, Hinata.”

She has to take an active moment to breathe, to get her heart to stop banging against the drums of her ribs, all of which seem to be reflecting the beat throughout her entire body. The feeling of being on-edge returns, her nervousness bubbling up inside of her in waves. She manages a greeting that shows no hint of her anxiety, which is both surprising and gratifying. “Hey, Naruto-kun.”

“Kinda late to the party, don’t you think?” Genma asks, directing the comment at Naruto with a tip of his head. The words and his expression are friendly, though, and Hinata isn’t sure if it’s because he’s glad Naruto’s here or because he has another secret tucked behind that devious mask of his.

“ _Super_ late,” Ino adds, scooting her chair over closer to Genma so that Sakura can situate her newly stolen barstool in her old spot. She gestures at her old seat and Naruto plops into it without question, his knee sliding against Hinata’s thigh.

“Maybe,” Naruto allows, laughing. He runs his fingers through his hair, just above his neck, and when he laughs little lines appear on the sides of his eyes. Hinata tries to remind her heart that it should be beating about seventy-five beats per minute, and nothing too much higher, but it continues to set a grueling pace and won’t back down. “But I’m here now, right? And apparently just in time for something interesting.”

And then he looks at Hinata, as if she has _any_ clue what’s even happening right now. Her thoughts are still caught back on the look on Sakura’s otherwise bored face when she’d glanced towards the front room; the uproar that some commotion had caused by the front door; the way Ino’s eyes had locked on what had clearly been an approaching Naruto, with words delivered specifically within his earshot. _Schemers,_ Hinata thinks with equal parts exasperation and affection, glancing between the two of them.

It’s obvious now that Naruto’s entrance had been the source of chaos, and even more obvious that Sakura and Ino had been waiting for this moment all night. What isn’t obvious, however, is what Naruto expects Hinata to say about this kissing matter. She’d been the victim of this attack! She has no idea where to start.

“Well,” she stammers, “I’m not really certain—Genma-san was explaining something that, well,” she lets the music drown out her words, nervously trapped in Naruto’s gaze.

“Huh?”

Genma comes to her rescue this time, taking pity on her. “Our Hyuuga heiress has suitors.”

Naruto studies Hinata’s expression for a brief moment, lips pursed. He turns back to Genma with a questioning brow, asking, “Suitors?”

“ _Geez_ , Naruto.” Sakura groans, smacking him in the arm and ignoring his surprised exclamation. “Suitors, you know? People that _like_ her.”

Naruto pauses, mulling this over.

“Okay,” he finally says. “But who wouldn’t like Hinata?”

Hinata can almost literally feel her temperature rising, wants desperately to blame it on the increasing population of bodies inside the bar, with dancers getting closer and closer to them. The truth of the matter is that she is simply, woefully embarrassed. She clenches her fist into the material of her pants, clinging to keep her anchored.

Sakura’s eye twitches. “ _Admirers_ , Naruto.”

“People that are _interested_ in her,” Ino adds crossly, less used to having to deal directly with Naruto’s sporadically obtuse nature than Sakura is. It gives her the rare position of having even less patience than Sakura, which is a feat in and of itself. Hinata flexes her fist and glances at Naruto’s profile, the strong edge of his jaw, the creased lines of the kyūbi’s whiskers carved into his skin.

He casts his eyes back over to her for just a moment, and she startles, but he’s already looking back at Ino.

“So people that want to marry her.”

Ino rolls her eyes. “Trite, but I guess if that’s the only way for you to understand it. Then yeah, people who want to marry her.”

After a pause that Hinata has no idea how to interpret, Naruto nods his head, slow enough that it’s clear his mind is working through several different processes.

“Well, they’re smart.” He finally says, lips curling into a grin as he turns over his shoulder and uses the full force of his smile on her. It’s like he’s _literally_ trying to knock her off her feet, or in this case, off of her barstool. She blinks at the radiance of him; even here in the muted lighting and smoky air, he shines brighter than anything. “Hinata is awesome.”

“Ah,” Hinata gasps, a tiny inaudible sound that only she hears. She doesn’t know what to say, or if she should say anything at all. Sakura saves her from trying, though, when she smacks Naruto again.

“You’re such an idiot.” She growls, lifting her hand threateningly as if to strike his bicep again. He holds his hands up defensively, whining.

“Sakura-chan, come on! No abuse while we’re at a party!”

“Might knock some sense into him,” Ino chimes in, lips pursed musingly. Naruto gives her a long-suffering look and Genma just seems pleased to have Ino’s and Sakura’s wrath aimed anywhere other than him.

“Hinata _is_ awesome,” Sakura snaps, and Hinata can almost literally see her struggle to not spill the beans. She mouths the words _thank you_ around Naruto’s shoulders, smiling gently when Sakura sighs but relents with an accepting nod.

Hinata feels the nerves that had been stringing her body up so tensely start to dissipate, now that the conversation seems to have the freedom to move somewhere besides her potential _suitors_. She knows better than to hope for either Ino or Sakura to change the topic of conversation, and she’s fairly certain that Genma will remain under the radar for fear of coming under attack again. Her only hope is that Naruto will change the subject himself, otherwise she might have to give it a try; she isn’t certain what she should bring up instead, though, and before she can grasp anything concrete, her chance passes her by.

“So,” Naruto says, clearing his throat, all-casual. “Who are these ‘suitors?’”

Hinata watches a cascade of reactions in her friends as though in slow motion. Sakura’s entire expression brightens like a sunrise over an open plain, her eyebrows bordering on touching her hairline, her lips pulled open to show teeth. Ino’s eyes narrow on Naruto in the same way a bird of prey spies a mouse in a field, her lips curling around a bloodthirsty sneer. Genma, decidedly silent and under the radar, raises his brows and glances immediately to gauge Hinata’s expression before jumping back to Naruto with a new, measured look of consideration.

And Hinata? She does her very best to not let anyone see the way her hands shake, or the fluttering of her pulse in her neck. She suddenly misses the comfort of her hair, a protective veil around her throat and face, as familiar to her as the jacket she rarely leaves at home. She knows they can see her flushed face, her high cheekbones stained like satin rose, bleeding down to the nape of her neck, but she soldiers through it and pretends like she isn’t bothered.

The road to strength isn’t always paved with utter authenticity; sometimes faking it until one makes it actually proves the quickest and most efficient route.

“I’m so glad you asked, Naruto.” Ino’s voice has the feel of a trap in it, but Hinata can’t even imagine what kind of bait she’s got in mind, or what kind of game she’s decided to play. She wonders, then, if Ino plays shogi with Shikamaru and Shikaku, and if she’s ever beat either of them.

“We were just discussing this before you came in,” Sakura adds, gesturing to Genma. Naruto’s eyes jump to him, curious and surprisingly focused. In this lighting, the deep ocean blue of them is transformed into something ruddy and cavernous, like treasure hidden at the bottom of the sea, gleaming golden only in direct light.

Hinata watches anxiously as Genma opens his mouth, far, far too easily for someone who’d been so hesitant earlier, and she decides that she literally cannot bear sitting here while her friends and the man she’s in love with discuss the possibility of other men being interested in her. She has her limits.

So, before Genma even has a full sentence out, Hinata slips off of her barstool and gestures to Ino’s drink. “I’ll get you another,” she says, and prays to the high heavens that Ino lets her go peacefully.

There’s a moment, brief but loaded, where Hinata thinks she _won’t_ , but then she’s nodding, beaming up at her.

“You’re so polite, Hinata! Way cooler than Genma. Maybe _I_ should ask you out.”

Hinata blinks in surprise, even while she knows that Ino’s words had undoubtedly been a joke. She watches Genma’s shoulders stiffen, though, and the lines of Naruto’s back cut deep, an incredibly severe posture for someone usually so loosely held.

“Silly,” she chides lowly, before gently clearing her throat. “Can I get anyone else anything?”

Naruto doesn’t turn to look at her, not even when Sakura prods him, asking if he wants a drink. He simply shakes his head distractedly, eyes never moving from Genma. Hinata accepts Sakura’s request for another drink and immediately spins on her heel, cutting through the crowd of dancers and heading for the bar. She thinks maybe she, too, could benefit from a drink.

The strained lines of her anxiety-riddled body nearly beg for a chemical downer, after all.

 

✧

 

Hinata does not end up getting herself another drink, mostly because she truly doesn’t care for the taste, and it takes her ages to feel the effects, anyways. Instead, she hangs out by the bar for far longer than she should, finding conversation with Yamato at first, who then seems to attract the attention of none other than the Hokage himself.

Kakashi looks haggard, with bags under his cheerily bright eyes and shoulders dropped with an excess of tension. The space around his Sharingan eye is angry and almost as red as the iris itself, as if it had recently been used. It’s surprising, too, that he has it uncovered. It’s possible that he’s exhausted enough that he feels he needs it open and uncovered for an immediate offensive hand, or that he simply cannot see well enough with his current amount of rest, to only have one eye open. Either way, Hinata aches for him.

She reaches out without a thought of hesitation, resting her hand against his forearm, allowing the heat of her healing chakra to penetrate through his skin. He doesn’t question it, which is more surprising than if he’d attacked her outright—this is _Kakashi_ , after all. He is undoubtedly one of the least touchy people in the entire village, but even still, he doesn’t shy away from hers.

It’s actually so surprising that Hinata can do nothing against the urge to ask him about it, so she does, without hesitation.

“You didn’t even flinch, Hokage-sama.”

“Wanna know a secret?” he says, instead of answering her implication. He cups his hand around his masked mouth, ushering her closer so he can speak lowly in her ear. “Tonight? I’m not Hokage-sama. I’m _just_ Kakashi.”

Hinata smiles, amused. “Understood, Hatake-san.”

“Such a polite young lady.” Kakashi sighs, nodding his head. “Hatake-san it is, then.”

The subject falls, and Hinata thinks that it’s been thoroughly dismissed. Kakashi, on the other hand, chooses to answer it only after imbibing half of his drink, running a thumb across the wetness on his exposed upper lip.

“I have it on good authority,” he begins, sounding a curious mixture of amused and sincere. “Really good authority, actually, that you are a respectable person.”

Hinata gives him a gap of silence, waiting for the rest of his explanation and receiving nothing in return. When it becomes clear that he doesn’t intend to elaborate any more on his own, she steps in again, hesitant.

“Thank you?” she smiles, a shaky, unsure little thing that makes Kakashi blink. “That means a lot, Hok—Hatake-san.”

“Ah,” he says, waving a hand. “Not really what I was going for.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Hinata admits, ducking her head low. She glances through the crowd and catches sight of Naruto’s shock of blond hair, and sees the way he’s leaning towards Genma in a way that, had it been anyone else, she might’ve suspected to be threatening. Sakura and Ino are neither of them a good indicator of what is taking place, either; both of them simply appear pleased.

“Foolish of me, really,” Kakashi admits, drawing her attention back to him. “To trust so easily.”

And just like that, she understands. _Trust_. For some reason, even though he has rarely been paired with her on missions or even seen her in action with his own eyes, Hatake Kakashi trusts her. It’s strange, and slightly harrowing to think about. What had she done to inspire such loyalty in such an incredibly powerful man? On the spot, she can think of nothing in recent memory that may have sparked the Hokage’s interest, and even further back, before he was ever Hokage, she had never done anything reputable enough to be trusted like _this_.

He is certainly not wrong; it _is_ foolish to trust her so easily, regardless of what kind of authorities he has behind the scenes telling him otherwise.

Frowning, she says, “Hatake-san. Trusting the word of your comrades is one thing, an admirable thing, but in a position of power such as yours, there can never be too much certainty in the stock of comrades. You’re responsible for the entire village. I could have killed you.”

Kakashi’s eyes crinkle at her and she can see the outline of his smile through his mask.

“Yes, yes,” he agrees cheerily, and Hinata relaxes even more in his presence, happy to know that she’d successfully gotten her words across. It feels good to know, with certainty, that he has grasped her exact meaning. At least, that’s what she thinks initially, until he adds just as merrily, “You certainly pass.”

“Pass?” she wonders aloud, brows dipping in confusion. Kakashi nods his head, either oblivious or uncaring of her confusion—most likely the latter, with him—and glances over her shoulder towards the table where his students are seated.

“Ah,” he says again. “They know. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“They know?” Hinata echoes, turning to follow his stare and finding both Naruto and Sakura glaring over at them. Perhaps if her eyesight had been any less incredible, she would’ve thought they were glaring at both she and Kakashi, but it’s apparent that the latter is receiving the full force of it.

“Oh dear,” he chirps, sounding anything but threatened, as she thinks he should have. “Time to head out, then. I do not have the energy for little ones right now.”

Yamato, relatively silent and content to rest his lips in what appears to be a bottomless pit of beer up until this point, snorts from behind him.

“About time, sempai. You need sleep.”

“True,” Kakashi agrees, standing up and hunching over in a way that seems anything but comfortable. He catches the concerned look in Hinata’s eyes and winks at her. “I’m staying under the radar.”

“Failing,” Yamato pipes in, tone bland. “Failing to stay under the radar. I don’t think you even managed to get under the radar at all, actually.”

Kakashi ignores him, lifting a hand to wave at Hinata.

“See you around, Hinata-chan.”

“Goodnight,” she responds quietly, still a little confused.

Yamato grumbles something indiscernible under his breath and says goodbye to her as well. They head towards the door when Kakashi pauses just behind him with a barely audible _“Oh,”_ and turns over his shoulder one last time. “I almost forgot. Words of wisdom and all that, right Tenzou?”

Yamato lets his weight rest on his hip, arms crossing peevishly over his chest.

He says, “Sempai, to be honest, you’re kind of the worst.”

“Right,” Kakashi says, ignoring him again to turn back to Hinata. “Patience is all good and well, but sometimes people need a _push_. Right?”

Hinata truly hasn’t a clue in the world what he means, but the man is swaying on his feet and his eyelids look so heavy they’re liable to slip shut without his permission any second now, so she nods her head and says, “Ah.”

“Ah.” Kakashi echoes, beaming at her. “What a great kouhai. Tenzou, I’m trading you for Hinata-chan. She learns so quickly.”

“Sempai, you don’t even know what day it is.” He rolls his eyes, then turns to Hinata.  “No offense.”

“None taken.” She replies easily. Tenzou slips an arm around Kakashi’s back and yelps when Kakashi elbows him in the side, saying, “I’m _tired_ , not an invalid!”

“Just walk, sempai.”

“You are so not cute.”

“I _would_ have to disagree.”

“What did I tell you about wood puns?”

“…That they _would_ not work. For any purpose I may need them.”

“I’m firing you first thing tomorrow.”

“You can’t fire a kouhai, any more than I can fire a sempai.”

“Why would you want to fire me? I’m Hokage. I’m top of the metaphorical wooden totem pole.”

Their voices fizzle out, become vague and unclear as they head further away from her. She watches them go together, bickering and swaying, and feels utterly charmed. Their banter had been a sort of soothing balm on the tension riddling her body; she feels loose again, ready to enjoy her night and not get hung up on things like people maybe possibly being interested in her, or the word _suitors_ , or the way Naruto had touched her first thing upon seeing her.

Definitely ready to not get hung up on _any_ of those things.

Definitely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! There will be about four more chapters to come.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Hinata gets back to the table with two drinks in hand, the topic of conversation has clearly changed, and the sight of tense shoulders and uneasy, strained necks is a thing of the distant past.

“That was literally _one time_ ,” Sakura is saying, holding a hand to her forehead. Ino chortles into her drink, eyes glittering. The fingers of her free hand are intertwined with Genma’s hand lying over her shoulder, the two of them pressed close. Naruto adamantly shakes his head, pointing a finger right in Sakura’s face, showing an alarming but unsurprising lack of self-preservation.

“One time?” he exclaims, animated in a way that is both charming and comical, something only Naruto can ever truly pull off. “You destroy training grounds _monthly_.”

“Destroy seems a little harsh,” Sakura responds blandly, eyes brightening when they catch Hinata’s return. She reaches out for her drink with gratuitous thanks, her expression filled with a measured mix of warmth and subtlety. Hinata bobs her head and slides Ino’s drink across the table, nodding again when she raises her glass in thanks as well. Naruto turns over his shoulder and the full force of his radiant smile and rosy cheeks nearly knocks Hinata off balance.

“You’re back,” he greets, holding a hand out to usher her back into her seat. She allows him to guide her, feeling the slight pressure of his fingertips like tiny pinpoints of flame against her spine. She runs a hand through the long tail of her hair without even thinking about the gesture, smiling at Naruto with more affection than she might’ve realized.

“Sorry it took so long,” she apologizes. “I ran into Hokage-sama and Yamato-san.”

“Ugh,” Sakura gags, pointing a finger down her throat. “They’re the worst.”

“Give it up, forehead. You’re just jealous that our almighty Hokage-sama would rather sleep with someone partly made of wood than your scrawny ass.”

“He’s not sleeping with Yamato,” Sakura retorts immediately, her head shaking with the words. She turns and grins at Naruto, the peaks of her cheekbones spotted pink. Hinata knows from experience that this means the alcohol has finally started to take an effect, though not quite enough to really unhinge her. “Right, Naruto?”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Naruto groans, a reaction made entirely because of his embarrassment with the subject. “Why do you love torturing me, Sakura-chan? How many times are you gonna make me talk about it?”

“They’re _your_ dads,” She says easily, shrugging. “Well, sort of. You know what I mean.”

Naruto nods, casting an affectionately disgruntled look her way. He lifts a hand and runs the pad of his thumb over his lips, as if to clean them. It’s an absentminded gesture Hinata hasn’t seen him do often, but one she has grown to find amusing nonetheless.

Ino, who most certainly already knows what is being alluded to but, like Sakura, enjoys watching Naruto squirm, impatiently clears her throat.

“We’re waiting,” she says. “Spill.”

Genma shivers, clearly having flashbacks to his moment in the hot seat just earlier tonight. Hinata flicks an amused but consoling glance his way.

“Kakashi-sensei is _not_ sleeping with Yamato.” Naruto casts a disturbed look Ino’s way. “That’s so gross, Ino.”

She remains utterly unbothered. “Whatever, you guys have no imagination.”

“He’s _dating_ Iruka-sensei.”

Hinata realizes that even though this news does not surprise her, her eyebrows have risen in interest. She blinks and notices that Naruto is staring at her, his face a mixed mask of something both parts warm and curious. While Ino snorts in the background and says something in Sakura’s direction that sounds suspiciously like _even better, to be honest_ , Naruto tilts his head at Hinata.

“Did you know?” he asks, genuinely inquiring. “Is this the first you’ve heard of it?”

He doesn’t seem critical in a way that would alert her to any sort of judgmental nature behind the inquiries, so she doesn’t tense up under his watch. Rather, bizarrely, she thinks he sounds rather smug. Why, she has no idea, but she’s fairly certain that pride is definitely a thing that’s lacing the curled corner of his smirking lips, for whatever reason.

“I knew,” she admits shyly, ducking her head ever so slightly. “But this _is_ the first I’ve actually heard of it.”

Naruto brightens, and Hinata feels as though somehow she has passed a test.

“Iruka-sensei likes to keep it quiet, because he gets nervous and all about rules and regulations, since Kakashi-sensei is Hokage.” He explains, turning completely in his chair so that his entire body is facing her, even when it blocks out both Sakura and Ino from their conversation. Hinata notices, however, that neither of them seems to care. They appear to be discussing possibilities involving the negation of “three’s a crowd,” and posing new and interesting ways to explore a group of three.

“But Kakashi-sensei, he’s frickin’ terrible at keeping it a secret. It’s so blatant. He’s not even _trying_. Drives Iruka-sensei crazy.”

Hinata smiles, laughing a bit. “He must really love him.”

Naruto’s eyes soften, the molten depths of them catching the light and shining bright in the flickering span of a second. It nearly takes her breath away, how stunning he is, how soft and tender. His heart, she thinks, is so beautiful.

“Yeah,” he whispers, just barely loud enough to be heard. “He does.”

When they both fall quiet, Hinata begins to squirm. It’s not that the lapse in conversation bothers her, not at all, but she worries that it might make Naruto uncomfortable, and the thought of that alone is enough to unsettle her. He’s just looking at her, that soft expression, those gleaming eyes, all of it pointed right at her and she can do nothing more than look back, and try to express herself as calmly as she can. It’s a difficult venture, especially with a heart racing river rapid quick and just as treacherously, making her hands visibly shake.

“In all honesty,” she begins carefully, lowly, still trying to find the words in her mind before releasing them into the air between them. Naruto shifts forward imperceptibly, slides the arm holding his torso up across the table until he’s close enough to hear her quiet words with only the slightest of straining ears.

“Iruka-sensei is so strong,” she laughs, shoulders jumping faintly with the movement. “He really has to deal with a lot, I bet. Ah, but I do admire Hatake-san’s authenticity. To be that fearless about love,” she falters, realizing that along with her words, her expression had taken a turn for the tenderhearted, soft and pliant and _see-through_. Her words clam together, a rush and a swell against the tide of her nervousness. “It’s commendable.”

Naruto’s smile spreads far and wide; his eyes twin pools of swirling heat she can’t quite decipher. All she knows, truly, in this moment, is that she is enchanted.

She doesn’t know how he does it, how he’s _always_ done it, but something about the openness of him, the unforgiving sincerity of every emotion he feels spreading across his face and through the lines of his body so effortlessly, will always pin her in place; stake a claim on some part of her heart she hadn’t known before, and leave her feeling like someone special just for having bore witness.

“I’m glad that you think so highly of them,” Naruto says. “I do, too.”

Hinata’s cheeks flare gradually with heat the longer she holds Naruto’s curious gaze, until she happens to glance away and notice Genma staring at them, his smirk a smug slash across his jaw. It makes her blush even more, ducking her head as she tucks the jaw-length strands of her bangs behind her ear. Naruto follows her lead after a long moment, turning back slightly to the others just in time to hear Ino discussing Kakashi’s good points and Sakura making a strangled noise in response.

“Please,” Ino huffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “As if you don’t think your sensei is hot.”

“I won’t deny that he has a good build,” Sakura starts, ignoring Naruto when he groans, saying, “Sakura, _no_ ,” and continuing on as if she hadn’t even heard him and his distressed remark.

“But if you only knew the things he _says_ ,” she immediately retorts, as compelling as a politician, calling Ino to reason with her on this. “Or _reads_.”

“Not to mention his ego.” Naruto chimes in solemnly, but there’s a smile curled over his lips and Hinata thinks he looks a little too fond to feel anything like repulsion. Sakura, on the other hand, takes a mighty gulp of her drink and sighs loudly into the air around them.

They have to yell now, to be heard over the pandemonium of the restaurant. It’s clear that the later it gets, and the more people file in, that this particular place is one of Konoha’s well-known treasures. It still baffles Hinata that she had not heard of it before tonight, especially knowing now how popular the place actually is. There’s a line streaming out the front door, predictably along the street outside, guarded by various bouncers. The massive scale of the restaurant reminds Hinata of the compound, but with far more open space and far less vegetation.

Several sections on the opposite side of the room, far off from where she and her friends sit, are reserved for elegantly crafted tables and dinner parties. The bar is in the far back center of the room, hugging the entire length of the back wall, nearly glowing with all of the lights along its borders. Hinata’s section seems more geared towards those planning to drink and eat small appetizers, if anything at all, what with the barstools and tiny tables. Not to mention the massive dance floor, absolutely overtaken by thriving, heated bodies.

Hinata casts a curious glance over her shoulder and watches a nearby group of jounin adapt to the rhythms of music; their bodies, so meticulously crafted for war, moving smooth as an undisturbed ocean surface. Hinata is unfamiliar with the songs being played, but she enjoys them, feels the way they seep through her pores and press against the cavern of her chest, pulling her towards the dance floor. It’s surprising. She isn’t usually one for dancing. Personally, she finds it rather embarrassing more so than enjoyable, which often leads to her clapping and laughing from her seat on the sidelines, perfectly content to watch her friends dance outrageously amongst each other.

“Isn’t their relationship supposed to be a secret?” Genma pipes in suddenly, amused.

Ino gives him a look that everyone immediately understands as: _you should know better_.

Sakura puts this sentiment in other words; “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

Genma lifts his hands defensively, snorting out a laugh. He settles back in his seat, palpably content, and Ino snuggles back with him, resting her head against his shoulder.

“If they really wanted it to be a secret,” she starts, scrunching her nose, “they’d have done a better job hiding it.”

“Kakashi-sensei isn’t hiding a damn thing,” Sakura shakes her head, looking heavenward. At this recently divulged sentiment, Hinata glances at Naruto and finds him already looking at her, grinning outright. He mouths, _told ya!_

“What isn’t Hokage-sama hiding?” a new voice suddenly shouts, right over Hinata’s shoulder. Kiba lumbers forward until he’s close enough to touch, and then he pushes even further until he’s leaning heavily on Hinata’s shoulder. She doesn’t mind the weight of him, but the abruptness of it is a little jarring.

Hinata knows within seconds that Kiba is absolutely _hammered_ , mostly because he keeps hiccupping in her ear, but also because he smells like a distillery. His clothes seem a little ruffled, too, as though he, or someone else, has been pulling at them.

“Ah, Kiba-kun,” she sighs, far too quietly for anyone else to hear. Naruto turns and studies the way Kiba leans on her with a prying, hitched brow. Ino laughs in Kiba’s face the moment she sees him, her smile vicious.

“Leave it to a mutt,” she jibes, “to get so absolutely trashed.”

“Hey,” he growls, pointing at her with an unsteady, wavering finger. Somewhere behind him Hinata hears the keening whine of a hidden dog and knows that Akamaru is ready to go home and go to _sleep_. This is also most certainly the reason that Kiba is already drunk; he probably pounded back as much alcohol as he could muster, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to stay as long as everyone else. The duties of a ninken owner that doesn’t use a summons. “ _Rude_.”

“That was rather tame, actually.” Chouji’s voice stirs, coming from just over Hinata’s left shoulder. “Especially for Ino.”

Ino sends him a doting grin, a reward of sorts, and raises a brow when Kiba only growls at her again. Genma casts about an appraising glance at the newcomers surrounding their table, and Hinata realizes that Shino is there, too, just on the other side of Genma, right in front of her eyes. She wonders when he’d gotten there, how long he’d been there, and hopes he doesn’t find her lack of awareness uncouth. When she glances up at him, he dips his chin just slightly, and just like that, she knows that he is unbothered.

“Where’s—” Naruto begins, before Sai appears beside him, silent as a wraith. “Oh. There you are.”

“So observant,” Sai monotones, his expression a clean slate. There’s a gleam in his eyes that Hinata reads easily enough, though, and it makes her feel at ease.

“Tenten,” Hinata suddenly blurts, eyes wide as she glances around the tight circle of friends now surrounding their tiny table. There clearly aren’t enough chairs to suit them all, but no one seems to mind. Chouji has procured a bag of chips, probably from an inner pocket, and Shino peers down at the palm of his hand, where insects are undoubtedly clambering about. Genma and Ino are speaking in muffled whispers, and from the looks in their eyes Hinata decides to keep her gaze averted and allow them some privacy. Kiba stays perched on her shoulder, in-between she and Naruto, and Sakura glances around along with her, searching for Tenten.

After a moment’s pause, apparently long enough for Hinata’s quiet outburst to register in his muddled mind, Kiba cheerily answers her.

“Oh,” he exclaims, “she’s over near the back wall, explaining some weapons technique to a group of chuunin and Kurenai-sensei. Something that leads to evis—eviz, uh, evic—”

“Evisceration,” Ino supplies easily, nodding her head with interest. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that discussion.”

“You and I both,” Genma agrees, pulling a single senbon from one of his front pockets. He chews on it idly and Ino’s bored expression catches on Hinata, then suddenly lights right up in a way that Hinata deems a mysterious amalgamation of both bright and dark. It’s apparent that only someone as callous as Ino can pull such a thing off.

A moment afterwards, before Ino’s words have even trailed through the space between them, Hinata sees Sakura straighten from the edge of her line of sight. She glances at her and feels her stomach clench; she knows that expression, a playful yet intent mix of determination and promise.

And she’s pointing it at Hinata. Again.

Ino says, “Where in the world is Izumo-san, I wonder?”

“Mm,” Sakura hums, not missing a beat; she props her chin on her clenched fist, smiling loftily at Hinata. “I’m fairly certain I saw him earlier in the crowd.”

“He wouldn’t miss this party,” Ino agrees, looking at Hinata from under her lashes. Hinata hears Genma whisper something like _seriously scary_ under his breath, but he doesn’t make a move to interject. He knows a battle he can’t turn the tides in when he sees one, and he’s too smart to throw himself into this one. Hinata sputters, a wave of suspicion and lighthearted betrayal washing over her.

She opens her mouth to tell them how silly they are, and that she isn’t falling for it, when she realizes how quiet everyone around her has suddenly become. Dread sinks through her chest like a stone, settles in her stomach like a tumor. _Wait_ , she thinks frantically, _don’t_ —

“Kamizuki Izumo,” Sakura explains to her newly attentive crowd. “One of Hinata’s admirers.”

“Quite the stunner, I hear,” Ino adds, shrugging a shoulder. Genma rolls his eyes.

Hinata doesn’t even pretend to be anything but completely mortified that this conversation has made a comeback, and this time with all of their friends present and apparently _interested_. She lifts her hands to hide her blushing face; she can feel their eyes on her. She almost wants to laugh, because of course Ino and Sakura would bring this back up just to tease her! And she’ll allow it, even if it is the most embarrassing thing in the world, because even she realizes that it’s a fun topic to play around with.

It’s not as though she hasn’t been privy to the same teasing thrown in Ino’s direction, before. Ino has admirers lining up and down the street nearly every week, and the ever-powerful Sakura-Tenten pair-up refuses to ever let her live it down without some teasing. Mostly, Ino runs with it and comes out of it unscathed—but sometimes, _sometimes_ Sakura and Tenten weasel some embarrassment out of her and that, surely, is worth all of their previous failures.

“Izumo-san?” Chouji ponders, tapping a finger against his chin. “Is he usually with Kotetsu-san?

Curiosity piqued, Sakura turns to Chouji with an inquiring brow. “Just the same.”

Chouji purses his lips in surprise, bobbing his head in an approving nod.

His tone is kind when he says, “He’s a nice fella,” and reaches back into his chip bag. “Always polite.”

Hinata still hasn’t removed her heated face from her hands but my, that sure had sounded suspiciously like a friend’s declaration of consent. The thought of a massive, Sakura-punch-sized hole opening up and swallowing Hinata into the depths of its rocky belly suddenly sounds far safer than her current predicament.

Her friends all seem to jump in at once, now that first blood had been drawn with a given name. All except Shino and, surprisingly, Naruto.

“Where the fuck does Kamizuki Izumo live?” Kiba snarls belligerently, leaning even more heavily on Hinata in a way she knows is meant to be protective.

“What does he look like? I can’t recall his face, even with the name.”

“Dark eyes,” a deep voice answers, sounding pensive. “Brown hair?”

“ _Totally_ handsome.” That voice is without a doubt Ino’s, and Hinata thinks that the next time they spar together she’s definitely going to give her an extra gentle push, simply for being so gregariously determined to embarrass the blood flow right out of Hinata.

“Wears a little mask, right?”

“Like Hokage-sama’s?”

“No, a littler one. Only covers his chin.”

“Is he a chuunin?”

“I think so. I don’t remember seeing him in the last jounin trials.”

“Wait,” Kiba suddenly snarls, spine straightening. Hinata finally drags her fingers over her face, revealing her flushed skin and pinched expression. She turns to Kiba, dreading what he’s preparing to say, but just at that moment Shino finally speaks up for the first time. His words, deliberate continuations of Kiba’s train of thought, absolutely throttle her.

“Didn’t Yamanaka-san say _one_ of Hinata’s…suitors?”

“Exactly,” Kiba sneers, voice guttural and torn asunder. “ _Suitors_.”

“Plural,” Chouji realizes, blinking. He turns to Hinata with a curious, mild expression of joy and it takes all of her strength not to return it out of sheer good manners, not when she knows her every expression is being watched intently. She glances fearlessly at Ino and Sakura and feels herself knocked down another peg into a deeper pit of surprise, one she hadn’t thought possible.

Ino and Sakura aren’t even looking at her, not even to watch the fruits of their teasing, not even to see her self-conscious expressions.

They’re watching Naruto.

“Who are the other suitors?” Kiba demands, and out of the corner of her eyes she sees Shino _cross his arms_.

“Wait,” she finally chokes out, her voice too quiet to make it into the stream of conversation still warping around her. _Oh no_ , she thinks, glancing worriedly at Shino. His shift in posture speaks volumes; all of which entail stories of a shocking level of protectiveness that would make Kiba’s earlier claims look petty in comparison.

As if that is not worrying enough, Hinata thinks, now she has to worry about the fact that her boys now officially know that she is sought after. Or at least, they think she is. This entire night has been nothing more than speculation with Genma, of all people, as the source. Who is to say that anyone out there actually has feelings for her at all? Names and ranks aside, nothing is yet set in stone.

That doesn’t do much for quelling the oncoming storms of her boys’ comingling need to watch over her well-being, though.

“Some pretty boy jounin,” Genma adds casually, but he has enough decency to shoot her a rueful glance. She purses her lips, trying to hide a grin. She can’t help but feel amused when he looks at her like that, knowing that some sort of game is in motion, set upon by his own girlfriend and her best friend and favorite co-conspirator.

Once upon a time, Hinata’s embarrassment had held real, true power over her. It could knock her off her feet, wipe the consciousness from her being, and put her on her back in seconds.

She’s different, now. Stronger and better at controlling it. She still feels it, no less violently than before, but now, instead of succumbing to it and allowing it to take over, she moves through it with ease, like a lethal shinobi moves through battle. Her steps are careful and deliberate, her movements without hesitation. Embarrassment becomes an added heat just under her skin, and nothing more.

Amusement bubbles inside of her and bursts like ice, soothing the burn of her mortification and turning it into something muddled and exciting. To know that she has power over it, that she can handle the teasing even with her inability to inhibit discomfiture; it’s a heady, freeing feeling.

“And some other guy we know next to nothing about,” Ino continues, blithe as ever. Hinata catches her amused gaze and locks her down with a pointed look, shaking her head in a way that clearly intimates that she’s onto hers and Sakura’s game. She expects her friend to shrug carelessly, as is her staple gesture, but instead she gets an even more severe stare, mischievous and daunting.

It seems to say: _are you so very certain?_

Hinata is, in short, not very certain at all anymore.

“I want _names_ ,” Kiba snarls, just as Shino pulls a tiny notepad from his pocket. Hinata actually does laugh at that, she can’t help it, and everyone’s eyes turn to her at once. Her mirth brightens the already playful air between the lot of them, something cheerful and lighthearted.

“You’re all too much,” she laughs behind her lightly clenched fist. “Really. We don’t even know if it’s _true_. Genma-san was surely speculating, right?”

She directs the last question towards him and punctuates it with her unblinking gaze, her own hand in this silly game they’re all playing. He swallows heavily and pointedly ignores the way Ino sits up a bit and _looks_ at him.

“Uh,” he mutters, and Hinata watches a bead of sweat slip down his sideburn.

“Are you kidding?” Ino interrupts with an amused laugh, crossing her arms over her chest and inconspicuously elbowing Genma in the ribs. He curls around the blow with an audible hiss, but she ignores him. “Genma runs into Izumo-san all the time. There’s no way this is unfounded.”

“Yeah,” Sakura agrees, finally rejoining the conversation. Her eyes flicker to Hinata but don’t stay with her for long. She turns her heavy-handed stare back to Naruto and carelessly adds, “It’s nearly impossible to hide feelings like that. Unless you’re an idiot.”

Hinata follows Sakura’s stare and glances curiously at Naruto, but all she can see is the sharp edge of his heavy shoulders, strained and discomfiting. His face is hidden from her, turned in Sakura’s direction instead. She wonders what kind of expression he’s making, and what his thoughts on the matter are. He’s unsettlingly quiet, and it makes Hinata wary.

“Izumo-san’s a good person,” Chouji reiterates suddenly, and Kiba tilts his head at him pryingly.

“You mean it?” he asks.

Chouji nods his head, not breaking eye contact with Kiba when he says, “Truly.”

After a long moment of silence between them, Kiba nods his head. “Still gonna check him out,” he mutters petulantly, shooting a glance in Shino’s direction to ensure backup. To Hinata’s eternal exasperation, she sees the tiniest hint of a nod.

“He was indeed present tonight,” Shino suddenly adds, tucking his notepad and hand full of creatures back into his pocket with all the casualty of someone tucking their house keys away. “But not anymore.”

Hinata sighs in relief before she even realizes it. Ino scowls at Shino, as if by saying the words he’d made them truth, and is now at fault for hindering any of Ino’s further plans of matchmaking Hinata and Izumo together tonight.

Hinata, finally sensing a presenting gap in the conversation that might allow her an escape, slips from her stool and stands to her full height, drawing all eyes to her once more. She smiles amiably, tucking the persistently rebellious strands of hair that keep falling free back behind her ear.

“He has the right idea of it,” she says, not without kindness. “I think I’m ready to turn in, as well.”

Ino narrows her eyes at her, but there’s no heat to the glare. Eventually, she just sighs, expression returning to boredom.

“Party-pooper.”

“Ah, Ino-san,” Hinata chides lightly, her smile fond. “I think you’ve had enough fun for one night. At least where I’m concerned.”

Ino’s eyes flash, and she bares her teeth in a semblance of a smile.

“Maybe,” she allows, but then her eyes flick to Naruto and _gleam_.

On Ino’s left, Sakura remains as sharp and alert as ever, glaring a hole through Naruto. Hinata wonders what he’d done to incur her wrath tonight, but lets the thought go in lieu of offering her farewell with a single jittery wave to all of her friends. She asks Sakura to pass on her goodbye to Tenten and her sensei, when they re-join the group, and receives a steely nod in response.

With that, she turns on her heel and makes to head through the mass of bodies blocking her way to the front entrance. Before she can even take a step, though, she hears the slide of material over leather, and glances over her shoulder to see Naruto sliding off of his barstool with hunched shoulders.

“Yeah,” he says, his usual fire coming out rather muted. “I’m pretty beat. I’m heading out, too.”

And then he glances over his shoulder and captures Hinata’s gaze, his expression compelling enough to stop her in her tracks.

“Wait up a bit?” he asks, as though it’s the simplest thing in the world. All Hinata can really do is nod, turning back to face him and watch as he moves around their circle of friends, issuing out hugs and bumping knuckles in farewell. Her cheeks heat and she wonders what their friends think of her simple, shy wave as a mechanism of farewell; especially compared to Naruto’s overwhelming, extroverted kindness.

They’re so different, she thinks, watching him clap a friendly hand on Shino’s shoulder, smiling wide around his quiet laughter. It doesn’t matter how introverted or extroverted the person he’s interacting with is, he always knows just how to worm his way into their hearts. He doesn’t even really have to try, either, which is the most incredible thing. He’s just _himself_. And everyone can’t help but gravitate towards him, all of them moths to his radiant flame.

Hinata understands this better than anyone else.

Naruto is easy to love.

He moves through their friends with his head ducked low, straightening the collar of his jacket. When he’s a few strides away from her, he glances up with a gentleness that startles her, makes her lips part, and asks, “ready?”

“I’m ready,” she nods, voice unsteady. They turn together and begin to push through the crowd, which turns out to be more of a struggle than either of them had been expecting. It feels almost natural, then, when Naruto reaches for her hand, fingers pushing through her own, and leads the way through the crowd. His shoulders alone could cut a path through these people, Hinata thinks wonderingly, blushing at the thought.

They make it out into the cold night air and both shiver, an involuntary response to the drastic change; inside the bar there hadn’t been room for anything cool, besides the drinks. Outside, there’s no shelter from the frigid breeze, or the heavy, icy chill permeating through the air. Hinata doesn’t really mind the cold, though.

She’s also still distracted by the way Naruto continues to hold her hand, until he seems to realize he’s doing so and pulls away with a nervous laugh, rubbing at the back of his head. His hair stands up in all directions, messy and adorable, and Hinata watches him with nothing held back in her expression. She’s too distracted, even, to recognize her own nervousness. Instead, she just feels in the moment, and thrives on it.

“This way, right?” Naruto asks, jabbing a thumb behind him in the direction of the Hyuuga compound. Hinata nods, preparing to issue her final goodbye, and only manages to blink when Naruto turns and starts heading in that direction, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He glances over his shoulder when he realizes she hasn’t moved, raising a genuinely curious brow at her.

“Comin’?” he prompts, before his expression shifts into concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yes,” she responds, tripping over her words as she jogs up to him and slows to match his longer strides. Relative silence falls around them, tempered by the buzzing in Hinata’s ears, leftover from the boisterous acoustics of the bar. She can hear the incessant buzzing of cicadas and other insects coming alive in the night, and the every now and again flapping of wings overhead.

She wonders what time it is, guesses somewhere in the first hours of morning, judging by the location of the moon, and hopes she doesn’t end up waking her sister when she enters the compound. She glances over at Naruto and feels the sudden tightness of her chest, the pulsing of her heartbeat in response to his close proximity. It almost feels like reality hasn’t yet settled in yet, for her. That Uzumaki Naruto is walking her home right now, that he is doing so of his own volition, with no insistence from any outside party—it’s unreal.

Hinata breathes in, deep and easy, and smells a mixture of evergreen bark, fast food, and the sweet tang of citrus. Long ago, before she had grown comfortable enough to be around Naruto, _way_ before she had ever started sparring with him, she might have questioned this particular scent.

But by now, she’s been in close company with him enough times to know that Naruto _always_ smells like citrus. She isn’t exactly sure if it’s a shampoo, body wash sort of thing, or if he’s a consistent fan of the fruits. Regardless, she thinks tenderly, citrus has easily become one of her favorite scents.

They only pass a few patrons along the quiet roads on the way to the compound, most of them minding their own business as they pass. Hinata can’t help but notice with open curiosity that Naruto knows the way to her compound without having to ask at any point along the way for direction. She wonders about that, and comes to the conclusion that if anyone knows the layout of New Konoha best, it is the architects, the Hokage, or Naruto. He probably knows the names of every shop, and every route to every possible destination. She doesn’t know why she’s surprised.

Before long, they’re at the front gate of her compound. The baby hairs that didn’t quite reach the tie of her ponytail flicker in the breeze and tickle her nape, sending chills down her spine. She smiles kindly up at Naruto, knowing that her feelings are spelled out across her expression, in the gleaming pools of her lavender eyes and the subtle lift of her charmed features. She doesn’t mind if he can see it. Not anymore.

“Thank you for walking with me,” she says, watching the very faintest trace of her breath puff in the cold air between them. “Have a good rest of your morning, Naruto-kun.”

“Yeah, of course,” he responds, a little distractedly. “I will, thanks.”

His gaze flickers over her face, a cursory glance that makes her heart race far too easily. He takes a few steps backwards as she slides the latch open and moves through the doorway, watching her cross the threshold before turning and heading back the way they’d come.

Hinata’s happiness is persistent, the smile on her face a lasting fixture she has no power or desire to disband. She slides the gate shut as quietly as she can, then leans back against it, letting her head rest against the wood paneling. She breathes a heavy sigh into the night, watches her breath dissipate into the pitch-black sky overhead, broken only by the thousands of bursting stars and the overwhelming glimmer of the moon. Her hand rises to press heavily over the racing of her heart, pushing against her skin so as to better feel it, and remember it.

“Hinata?” Naruto’s voice, a muffled whisper, jolts her. Her heart races for a new reason, startled and curious, as she slides the gate back open and finds Naruto standing there, hands pushed deep in jacket pockets, shoulders humbly hunched forward. He looks up from the ground when he sees her and his eyes smooth over her curiously hitched expression with an earnest kind of determination, his hands slipping out of his pockets.

Her lips part around his name, her curiosity at his return getting the best of her, and Naruto breathes every syllable of it in when his lips touch hers, so gently she barely feels them.

His hands smooth lightly, carefully, over the skin of her cheeks until he’s holding her, pulling her ever so slightly into his kiss. Hinata stops breathing for only a moment, only long enough to realize that Naruto is _kissing_ her, and then she slowly lifts onto the tips of her toes to accommodate them both. Their lips part once, twice, and Naruto leans back in each time to press close to her, his chapped lips moving so heartbreakingly cautiously over hers she can almost feel the bite of tears in her eyes.

He pulls away a moment later, fingertips sliding over her skin, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and wild. Hinata’s lips remain parted, her breath coming in choppy waves, and she sees her own expression mirrored in his; the brightness of his eyes, the staggered thrill, the persistent grin.

He takes a few steps away from her, never once looking away from her.

 “Okay,” he says, laughing around his panting breath. “ _Now_ I will.”

And then, before Hinata can say a word, he’s gone.

She falls back against the front of the gate, until she slides all the way down into a crouch, her smile threatening to break her into pieces. She puts her face in her hands and laughs quietly, freely into her palms, because her happiness is too potent, too powerful to stay holed up inside of her.

She doesn’t even care that she’s leaning against the _front_ of the gate, and anyone strange or busy enough to be awake at this hour will be able to see her kneeling and laughing, with tears of joy in her eyes, outside of her compound.

It doesn’t occur to her that Naruto might stay behind, somewhere hidden, just to see her reaction from the shadows; or that he’d then go leaping across the rooftops, shouting his delight straight up into the never-ending sky, fist pumping triumphantly.

Instead, she marvels over chance, and circumstance, and love, all from her position crouched so low to the ground.

“What a beautiful night,” she whispers, lifting the words up to the endless sky overhead, eyes glistening with joy, and with thanks.

“What an extraordinary, beautiful night.”

 

✧

 

Hinata goes about her business the next day as if she actually feels anchored to the ground beneath her feet, when in all honesty she feels lighter than clouds and as radiant as star fire. Hanabi had caught her and weaseled the story out of her before she’d even completely set foot into her room, though she’d been more than happy to share it, even without the threats.

The rest of her day is open with no scheduled plans, for once, so she heads into the marketplace and shops around the sale racks for weapons Hanabi might enjoy. She doesn’t find much, but then again, she was just in this area the other day and the stock hadn’t changed yet.

It’s difficult to mind the repetitive scenery, though, when she can’t stop smiling and replaying the night before in her head, over and over. The feel of Naruto’s hands in her hair, against her face, the shock of his lips pressing so very carefully against her own—it’s enough to overturn a rosy-hued easel across her features, just under her skin. Her smile persists, and she knows that people glance at her even more than usual because of it, but even with their pointed attention, it remains.

She feels as though she’s glowing. Maybe that’s why everyone keeps staring, she thinks. Maybe they’re seeing her in the same way that she feels.

Luminous.

The shop owner of the last place she’d visited had patted her hand after her transaction, laughing lightly.

“Princess, you look just radiant!” She’d exclaimed, becoming even more amused when Hinata’s only response was to blush even more, and duck her head. She thanked the elderly woman with a quick, polite bow, and skittered off to the next shop with a hand pressed lightly over her mouth.

Her day continues on thusly, with a few people verbally acknowledging how happy she looks, and how well it suits her. She always reacts with the same pleased embarrassment, bowing politely and thanking them with soft words.

She decides midway through her morning that she’ll stop by Sakura’s place on her way home, knowing that she’ll find Ino there as well—they always spar together on Saturday mornings before coming back to one of their places to have lunch together. Hinata has an open-ended invitation to these get-togethers, and usually she accepts them. On the few days when she doesn’t, it’s known that she’s either browsing the disturbingly early-morning sale racks for gift ideas, on a mission, or holed up with her teammates somewhere else.

Today had obviously been a sale racks kind of day.

She ends up leaving the market with two used kunai and several handmade key chains that she knows Hanabi will immediately attach to the handles of both her new and pre-existing weapons.

When she knocks on Sakura’s door and receives a jaunty cheer welcoming her in, she takes a single deep breath before stepping through the threshold. She is essentially walking into a lioness’ den, in which her poorly disguised expressions of delight are open game.

True enough, the moment Sakura turns over her shoulder from the pretzel-like stretch she’s pulling on the tatami mat in her living room and sees Hinata’s face, she unwinds so quickly Hinata worries she might’ve pulled something. Hinata sets her bag down by the front door and opens her arms just as Sakura flies across the room and lands in them, wrapping Hinata up almost impossibly tight. Hinata gasps around the abrupt movement and laughs; she can hear the spray of a showerhead in the other room suddenly being clipped off and knows that Ino knows she’s here.

“What happened?” Sakura crows. Before Hinata can even think of how to answer with some semblance of tact, Sakura turns towards where the sound of falling water had just vanished and calls, “Ino-pig! Get your tiny ass _out here_!”

Ino appears in the living room in nothing more than a towel, still dripping wet, in mere seconds. Hinata’s cheeks flush with amusement, on top of her joy, and she watches the same expression that had shifted over Sakura’s face move over Ino’s, transforming her grumpy sneer into something magnetic and cheerful.

“What _happened?_ ” she demands, echoing Sakura’s earlier words. Sakura unhooks her arms from around Hinata’s neck and moves back, giving her some room. Hinata lifts her hands consolingly, nodding towards Sakura’s couch.

“I’ll explain,” she starts, bringing a hand up again to cover her smile. “Let’s sit?”

They all huddle onto the couch, Ino completely uncaring of her state of undress, until they both turn and are facing Hinata with expectant expressions, eyebrows hitched high and smiles blown wide.

Hinata tries for a moment to find a starting point, an explanation that covers everything, but her thoughts trip and tangle and all she manages is to eventually blurt, “he kissed me.”

Two seconds of exultant silence pass and then Sakura and Ino are both leaping up from the couch and crowding Hinata close, tucking her into their arms and pressing their faces against her hair.

“Holy shit!” Sakura squeals.

“I _knew_ it!” Ino boasts.

Hinata allows them to stick to her like glue, reaches out and intertwines her fingers with each of their free hands. She bobs her head excitedly, eyes crinkling.

“When did he do it? Wait, oh my God,” Sakura stutters, and to Hinata’s surprise, she sees tears in her eyes. Her heart swells with warmth and she pulls her two friends in close, and finally feels the first shock of tears in her own eyes.

Ino follows Sakura’s train of thought, demanding, “We need the whole story, starting from when you guys left the bar.”

And so Hinata tells them about the surprising coldness of the night air, but the predominant warmth she’d felt walking beside Naruto through the quiet streets of Konoha; she explains the feeling of joy she’d felt just sharing space with him, the companionable silence between them, and his polite farewell at her front gate.

She trips a little over the details of the actual kiss, so nervous and overjoyed that it actually happened that her words stumble around and struggle to find discernible purchase. Sakura and Ino sigh and cheer and hum along with the story, supportive and thrilled, and so reflective of her shining joy.

“Shit, but that was kind of smooth,” Ino finally says when Hinata finishes her retelling, skipping the part about her crouching low and pressing her fingertips to her lips. Ino casts a considering look in Sakura’s direction, saying, “I didn’t know the guy had it in him.”

Sakura looks even more surprised than Ino, and something bright in her eyes shines a little with pride. Hinata is happy to see it, knowing it must be for Naruto. “You’re telling me.”

Hinata watches Ino’s eyes, so beautifully expressive, sharpen and constrict with some internal realization. She flicks her glance to Hinata, amused and simpering, then right back to Sakura with a laugh.

“I think we can officially say our plan worked. _Swimmingly_.”

Hinata’s beaming expression shifts, hinting more towards confused curiosity as her two friends gladly bump knuckles around her.

“Damn right,” Sakura nods, sounding somewhere between exasperated and complacent. “He’s such an idiot.”

“Plan?” Hinata asks, and finally feels a bit of the steel in her spine return. “That’s _right_.” She realizes suddenly, eyes widening. “You two were plotting last night. What kind of game was it?”

Sakura bursts out laughing, and then pretends to be affronted. She puts a hand to her chest and meets Ino’s sparkling eyes, saying, “Did you hear her? We were _plotting_.”

Ino grins, slow and wide. “Oh, I heard her.”

“Well!” Hinata huffs, shrugging her shoulders. “You _were_.”

“Maybe,” Sakura allows, peering down at her fondly. “You just so happened to be placed in the middle of the board, though. Our bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“The game wasn’t for _you_ ,” Ino explains, just this side of exasperated. She stiffens, then, and snorts to herself. “Well, literally speaking, that’s exactly what it was. A game _for you_.”

“Get back on track,” Sakura reprimands her, tone light and lacking in bite. Ino rolls her eyes at her, mouthing _fun-sucker_.

“Yeah, we were playing a game,” Ino finally admits, lips twisting up until there’s nothing left but sharp edges. “ _Plotting._ But the game wasn’t for you at all.”

Hinata pauses, still confused, and jogs her memory of last night before the incredible ending. She wonders over whom their target had been if not her, considering all of the teasing with her at the center, when Sakura gladly gives her the answer.

“It was for _Naruto_.”

Hinata stiffens, and her mind, like a sealed chest that Sakura’s answer has finally unlocked, opens up and traces easily back to the way Ino and Sakura had aimed their threatening, conspiratorial glares on Naruto more than anyone else. She remembers the jibes, and the pointed pauses in conversation, waiting deliberately for Naruto to hear their delivery.

She remembers how shrewdly they’d talked up her suitors’ looks and intentions, making it seem as though there were several interesting people seeking Hinata’s affections, rather than a few possible young men interested in getting to know more about her.

“You,” she starts, eyes tracing back and forth between the two of them, lips fighting off an incredulous grin. “You were _teasing_ Naruto-kun?”

“Oh,” Ino laughs, shaking her head haughtily. “We were _baiting_ him.”

At the shock played out clearly in Hinata’s eyes, Sakura pulls back slightly and lets her see the sudden sincerity of her expression, only slightly tinged with amusement.

“Listen,” she says seriously, “Naruto is an idiot, but he’s my brother. I know him better than he knows himself, and I _know_ that what he feels for you is worth defending—even if that means helping him along the way. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Ino agrees softly, feeding off of Sakura’s solemn yet sincere vibe. “We wouldn’t have pushed had we not known there was something _to_ push.”

And suddenly, Hinata gets it. She understands.

What they’re telling her, what they’ve been trying to get across to her, is that they saw something in Naruto’s opinion of her that was real and worth protecting. They’re telling her that his actions the night before had been entirely of his own volition, with no coercion.

They had given him a push, but added nothing to the fuel.

His feelings are his own.

“I understand,” she breathes, and tears trickle over her cheeks. Despite the coolness of Sakura’s apartment, Hinata’s affection for her friends curls inside of her, warming her from the inside out. She pulls her hands from theirs to instead tuck strands of their hair behind equally dainty ears. She doesn’t mind that Ino’s hair is heavy and wet and has been steadily soaking through her clothes on her right side, or that Sakura is sitting more in her lap than on the couch, and her leg is falling asleep. She loves them dearly, endlessly, and feels like the luckiest person in the world to have such incredibly attentive, caring friends.

“Thank you so much,” she says quietly, and all at once they lean forward and each rest their foreheads together.  “I’m so lucky to have friends like you.”

“What the heck,” Sakura grumbles, playfully rubbing her forehead against both of theirs with a vivacity that almost burns. Ino and Hinata pull away at nearly the same time, the former muttering curses while Hinata only laughs. 

“Stupid!” Ino sings, smacking Sakura’s bicep lightly. She squeezes Hinata’s shoulder dotingly and moves past them, sashaying her way back to the bathroom. “I’m gonna get changed real quick.”

“Finally!” Sakura calls after her jokingly, shaking her head.

“So,” Hinata starts, a suspicious gleam in her eyes as she turns back to Sakura. “All those times you brought up the young men—”

“Your _suitors_ ,” Sakura teases, waggling her fingers at her. Hinata ignores her.

“The _young men,_ ” she emphasizes plaintively, smiling. “Were you making that up, too? To…possibly make Naruto-kun jealous?”

Even speaking the words and the possibility of the truth behind them is enough to send butterflies into flight in her stomach, lifting as a tingling, tightening sensation in the space of her chest.

“Are you kidding?” Sakura snorts, and moves over into the kitchen. Hinata follows her along and leans on the doorframe there, watching Sakura set out three glass cups, most certainly for tea. “Genma-san wasn’t lying about that at all. It was excellent ammunition, though.”

Hinata’s breath leaves her almost forcefully, as though she’s been punched. She had somehow convinced herself that the admirers had all just been a part of the game Ino and Sakura were playing, and Genma just happened to be a part of it. It wasn’t a stretch—he _is_ dating Ino, after all.

Finding out that there actually _are_ a few young men out there in the village, men with names and faces that some of her friends recognize, surprises her into a stunned state of nervousness. Has she ever interacted with any of them before? What if she hasn’t? How do they even _know_ her, then? Or maybe, she thinks solemnly, they only know of her surname and her status, and that is enough. It wouldn’t be the first time, and she’s long since grown accustomed to feeling nothing but pity for the poor souls who imagine a powerful, exciting life as a Hyuuga heiress’s significant other. Power they may receive, but excitement is the very last of it.

Clans involve far too much legislation and rules and politics to be anything but tedious, really. Obviously, people outside of clans don’t always understand that, so she doesn’t criticize those who may desire to be beside her for the sole reason of belonging in a rather highly stationed seat in a clan as prestigious as her own.

Ino, finally changed, makes her way into the kitchen in a pair of shorts a shade or two paler than her skin, and a deep green tank top clinging to her form. Her hair, long enough to tickle the backs of her knees when left down, is coiled carefully into a loose, twisted chignon just over her neck. Stray hairs frame her face messily, and she tucks them behind her ears as best as she can before taking a heavy seat at Sakura’s table. She leans back and balances on the back legs, just the way Sakura had the night before at the bar, and peers over at Hinata.

“There was no _possibly_ making Naruto jealous last night. It was a certainty. And it worked like a damned charm.”

“She’s right,” Sakura adds airily, turning around and sliding Ino and Hinata both their cups of tea. She drinks hers at the counter, the edge of which fits right into the curve of her lower back. Hinata takes the seat next to Ino and cups the warm mug in her hands, blowing lightly on the steam rising off of it.

“Once Genma-san told us about these guys, I knew Naruto wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Sneaky, sneaky,” Ino whispers, sounding far too proud of Sakura’s normally dormant perfidious nature.

“You may not know this about Naruto,” Sakura says sarcastically, tone conspiratorial. “But he’s _kind of_ competitive.”

“Which meant we had to be super careful,” Ino interrupts, raising her pointer finger in the air. Sakura nods. “Because we didn’t want to meddle, all things considered. A push is all we were going for.”

Hinata raises a single dainty brow, but lets Sakura continue on without interruption.

“Absolutely no meddling was allowed. When we do scheme, we do it smartly. We set parameters. Meddling was strictly forbidden.”

“Hence the abundance of glares, and the surprising scarcity of threatening his person?” Hinata wonders aloud, lips pursed, and instantly she knows she’s put herself in a precarious situation for the future. Ino sits up straighter in her seat, eyes flickering over Hinata like she’s never really _looked_ at her before. Sakura has that same dangerous, exploring stare going on, the one that seems to be considering Hinata in a new light. Her fears are only validated when Ino turns over her shoulder and addresses Sakura with a sharp smile.

“Hina-chan can play ball,” she says, lips twisting. “Good to know for the future.”

“Hm,” Sakura hums agreeably, making Hinata groan.

“I’d be terrible at it,” she says, putting a stop to their nonsense immediately. They shrug in unison, carelessly, as if still silently _considering_. Chills race down Hinata’s spine.

“As we were saying, then,” Sakura continues, turning slightly to set her teacup down on the counter beside her. “Naruto’s competitive, and we didn’t want to meddle. So all we did was push our best ammunition onto the table and watch his reaction to it.”

She purses her lips under Hinata’s stare, and when she glances over to Ino, she, too, is frowning into her teacup. Raising her brows, Hinata thinks back to the night before and the way that Ino and Sakura had seemed so unsatisfied with Naruto the entire night. Having the knowledge, now, that Naruto had been their intended target allows for her to have a sharper retrospect; she remembers Naruto acting strangely, differently than his usual bubbly, outgoing self. But she can’t remember seeing his face, and has no recollection of anything he might’ve said that would raise any flags.

And that’s when she realizes exactly where their displeasure originates.

“He gave you nothing,” she muses, stunned at the realization. She’s also a little surprised that she doesn’t feel disheartened in the slightest. Should she? Should she feel dismayed that Naruto hadn’t reacted visibly to the news of a few people expressing active interest in her as a person and as a woman? She doesn’t know how she _should_ feel, but dismayed isn’t even close.

She feels content.

Unbothered by this news, even while Ino and Sakura seem slightly past bothered and might even be in the territory of irritated. Hinata has never known Naruto to be an overly possessive person—if anything, his selflessness trumps any bouts of possession he may have expressed in front of her.

He’d grown up without parents, shunned and despised by an entire village, by _every_ village, and he’d struggled to make friends because of it. It still hurts her, thinking about how many years he must have spent alone, wondering why no one wanted to stick by him, wondering what was _wrong_ with him. It is a sharp, deep ache inside of her that she can never be rid of; she is partly responsible for his pain. She had not been brave enough to pierce the veil of his loneliness, back then.

And yet, despite his loneliness, and the formative influence it had on him as a child, and then a young man, he never once coveted anything more than the bond of relationships. When he was young, it was toys, any number of his admittedly few possessions, and food that he tried to share.

When he grew enough to realize he was strong enough to love and support himself, it was that very same strength he shared without boundary.

And when he grew experienced enough to know pain, to know loss, to know _devastation_ , he shared the one thing that had always been his only companion.

His love.

Love for himself, because no one else would love him. Love for himself, because after he realized that there was nothing _wrong_ with him, but that for some reason others didn’t want to be near to him, that even with that kind of trauma, he was still special, and important, and worth loving.

Naruto shared his love with the entire world, and from it grew treaties of peace, lives once-taken returned, and the construction of not only an entire village and it’s populace, but of the idea that love of self and others can truly make positive change.

Hinata had never known Naruto to be possessive.

So she does not feel dismay at being denied the role of his possession.

Instead, she feels a light wave of warmth, knowing that the tensed lines of his shoulders and the unnatural silence of his usually boisterous, laughing voice may be clues to something new and wonderful growing within him—something like, maybe, him finally wanting someone for himself.

It’s a long shot, she thinks, her heart soothed and flooded with refreshing heat. But she, too, has grown through the ages, and confidence may have come later for her than others, but it got to her eventually.

She thinks that maybe, just maybe, Naruto’s strange behavior the night before can be attributed to the realization of a boy that had never struggled to share a thing in his life, suddenly opening himself up to the possibility of finding someone worth keeping for himself.

“He barely reacted at all,” Ino admits suddenly, still frowning into her tea. She grumbles something under her breath that Hinata doesn’t hear, but is willing to bet has a curse word in it. Sakura worries her lower lip, brows scrunched in concentration, as though needing to tense in order to recall Naruto’s behavior the night before.

“No,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “He _was_ acting strangely, but not in the way I thought he might.”

She throws a consoling glance Hinata’s way, clearly worried that she may have upset her somehow. Hinata flaps her hand, dismissing the look with a smile and a subtle shake of her head.

“Maybe he was just surprised,” she offers, feeling more and more certain about this conjecture. “I mean, _I_ was surprised.”

“You totally shouldn’t be surprised,” Ino scoffs, giving her a pointed look. “You’re the nicest person I know, and you kick ass. You’ve got a great head on your shoulders, and you’re beautiful.” Ino shrugs, as if all of this is common knowledge. Sakura rubs inconspicuously at her jaw, hiding what is undoubtedly a smirk.

She winks at Hinata and says, “Wow, Ino-pig. Maybe you _should_ ask Hinata out.”

Without a pause, Ino responds, “Totally would, to be honest. But we’re both a little spoken for, remember?”

“Ah, ah, you’re right.” Sakura nods, accepting this. Hinata tilts her head at her, notices the way the morning sunlight spills in through the window just above her kitchen sink, just over her shoulder. The fingers of light card through her hair, casting it in a golden hue, and her pale skin gleams bright and clear.

“Sakura-san,” Hinata begins hesitantly, deliberately careful with her words. “May I ask, are you interested in anyone right now?”

Sakura doesn’t seem startled by the question, not even when Ino turns her entire body to face her, clearly ready to go on the offensive.

“Honestly?” she poses, crossing her arms over her chest and resting her weight on her cocked hip. Her expression relaxed, her tone coming out just this side of self-deprecating. “I’m still stuck on the _other_ idiot.”

“He’s the worst,” Ino grumbles, fist clenching. Hinata empathizes with Sakura, she really does. She lifts herself from her seat and heads towards her, setting her cup next to Sakura’s and sliding her arms around her waist until her chin can sit lightly on her sloped shoulder. Ino, apparently on the same wavelength, curls around Sakura from her left side just a moment later. After a brief moment, Sakura sighs beneath them and pulls them in close.

There are no tears, and no words seem sufficient enough to break through the shadow of the reality of their close friend still loving the boy who had left her and her team behind so long ago.

So instead, they’re present for each other, and they stand together.

As they always have.

As they always will.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes, Hinata trains by herself.

At times it’s because her friends are busy, or absent; sometimes it’s because she likes the solitude; and sometimes she just needs some time to herself.

Today is a combination of having Kiba cancel on her in lieu of taking his family’s dogs to the local veterinarian, and wanting time to herself.

The best grounds for solitude, in her experience, are those owned by the Nara family, and those just behind her family compound. The former requires individual permission from a Nara family member, and it’s not like that would be difficult for her to attain, but there’s something homey and comforting about the grounds behind her compound.

They’re densely covered in trees tall enough to pierce the sky, and wide enough to make the action of seeing through them, without the Byakugan, a laughable venture. There are plenty of clearings if one knows where to look—and she’d grown up in these forests, so she knows better than nearly anyone.

The only person who had ever had more extensive knowledge of these lands had been Neji.

She works herself ragged, until there isn’t a spot of her that isn’t sweating or aching. It’s a good ache, though; one that she tempers with long, extensive bouts of stretching post-workout. She does this now, sitting in the middle of one such clearing, just large enough, maybe, to fit four Ichiraku Ramen stands.

It’s been just over three weeks since Naruto left for his mission.

She sits with her legs extended out completely on either side of her, a splitting stretch that soothes the tension in her inner thighs, as well as her groin. She leans her torso against the grass, resting on her elbows, carefully rolling her neck. Most of her tension is in her hips, of all places, which is awful because it’s a difficult area to stretch. She knows from self-exploration, aided by chakra, that she just has naturally tight hip flexors. A simple inconvenience.

So she makes sure to always stretch them the longest. She doesn’t mind it, really. She listens to the soothing calls of birds, the buzzing of insects, the distant rumble of the village behind her. She glances through the wide-reaching canopy cover overhead, notes the way the sun peeks through the branches in splits and strains. She can feel the heated touch of it, far less potent than it had been a few months ago in the heart of summer , against the nape of her neck and along the line of her spine.

She’d removed her jacket to spar, enjoying the slight improvement in flexibility that she gains without it. The flimsy material of her undershirt is a blessing and a curse, in that it allows the slight breeze to pierce through to her skin, cooling her easily, but does nothing to protect her from the sun.

She’s just contemplating whether or not it’s about time to invest in a new brand of undershirts when the ground beneath her quakes, a powerful shift of earth and rock.

She activates her Byakugan subconsciously, without even realizing it, and searches several miles out in all directions, seeking the source of the disruption.

What she finds surprises her, has her lips opening around a startled gasp. There, about eleven, no, twelve kilometers southeast of her position, is a young man. And he is destroying the ground beneath him in a way that looks terrifyingly similar to one Haruno Sakura’s usual methods.

Hinata takes her time getting up, not wanting to offset any of her stretched muscles or tendons. She flexes her legs and stretches her arms overhead before leaping over to where she’d left her jacket, folded neatly at the base of a giant oak tree. She slips into the sleeves and pats the bark of the tree, allowing her Byakugan to fade, and then she heads towards the disturbance with determination.

From her simple look, she knows exactly how to get to the man and doesn’t need the aid of her kekkai genkai. However, even if she had seen the symbol of the Leaf on his Hitai-ate, she still had reason to be wary of him, so she reactivates her Byakugan when she’s within a mile of him, ensuring that he doesn’t act against her in any way.

She steps out of the clearing and finds him facing her, perched on one of the shattered boulders he’d upended, as cautious as he appears to be curious.

“Hello,” he calls hesitantly, lifting a diffident hand in greeting. She tilts her head at him and deactivates her Byakugan, seeing no need for it. He stands tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. Impossibly long legs, muscled and strong. His form is the same, typical shinobi-borne structure, fostered and cared for by constant physical diligence. Surely, he’d be a tough opponent, a frightening enemy.

“Hello,” she calls back, equally as uncertain. Then, after a moment, she takes a few more steps towards him, eyes never wavering. “How are you?”

He smiles, genial and kind. “I’m well. And yourself?”

“Surprised,” she admits, expression lifting as she leaps to a stop a few feet away from him, perching herself on another of his upended boulders. Her eyes trail over the subtle elegance of his features, smooth and handsome, and catch on the dusty hue of his hair, wild and in disarray. His eyes catch the light and seem to hold it prisoner, like liquid pools of honeyed sunshine. “I don’t usually run into anyone here.”

He’s not wearing a jounin vest, but given that he’s only training, that means next to nothing. She has no idea what rank he is, and though something about him seems vaguely familiar, she doesn’t remember encountering him before. With the way he holds himself, loosely but poised, she knows he’s at least a chuunin.

“Is that another way of saying, ‘come here often?’” he asks, eyes very nearly sparkling. Her expression mirrors his, brightening under his humor.

“I guess it sort of is,” she admits, laughing a little at herself. Then, remembering her manners, she leaps cautiously to his boulder and holds out her hand, all in one smooth motion. “I’m Hyuuga Hinata.”

His eyes crinkle in a way that almost seems fond, and she thinks for a moment that she’s imagining things, until he responds.

He says, “Not to be creepy, but I know who you are. It’d be weirder to be a shinobi in this village and _not_ know who you are, actually.”

He takes her hand, though, and gives a measured squeeze.

“I’m Kawabuchi Ren. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Finally?” she asks, catching on the word. His reaction is a little flustered, after that, which makes her even more curious.

“Ah,” he laughs, and it’s a good laugh, low and soft. “You see, I was in the same jounin exams as you. I didn’t pass, though.”

“Oh.” Hinata watches his expression, the way he looks down at the shattered ground around them, embarrassed. She sympathizes with him, then, knowing that it wouldn’t be easy to admit that to anyone, ever. It takes courage to admit to past failures; she admires that.

She tries to appear as encouraging as possible, knowing exactly how nerve-wracking it is to prepare for such dangerous, intense trials. It must be incredibly difficult for him and the others whom had taken but not passed a previous exam, since they’re in that unsettling position of knowing just about how terrifying the trials are, but not knowing exactly why. Every series of trials is different, and new, and thought up and orchestrated by different people so as to maintain the same boundaries of near impossible tasks and quests.

Even to this day so many years after graduating, Hinata still finds herself waking up from nightmares, remembering the horrors she’d been put through—had put _herself_ through—in order to be classified as one of the elite.

Hinata’s expression stains with sympathy. There’s something about this person that she can’t quite put her finger, but it makes her want to support him, enough to push through the awkwardness of not knowing what to say.

“You’re clearly strong,” she jokes, gesturing to the destruction around them. His fair cheeks dot pink until even the bridge of his nose is dusted in rose; he reaches up and scratches idly, nervously, at a sideburn. “Pardon the intrusion, but were you upset?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” He hesitates, his hand sliding to cup the back of his neck. “I was actually hoping—I thought maybe—”

His words trail off and scatter, jagged and incomplete. She knows this feeling, too, better than he probably expects, so she waits him out, just as she’d hope someone would for her.

He inhales, gathering himself, and simply explains, “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Ah,” Hinata nods, understanding. “Well. I’m sure if you know who I am, then you must certainly also know of Haruno Sakura?”

“Godaime Hokage’s apprentice?” he acknowledges with a visible shiver, which only serves to warm Hinata to him further. She nods her head, eyes crinkling.

“Just the one. She has a similar effect on the land,” she gestures again to the chaos around them, her expression taking a turn for slightly reprimanding. “She knows how to clean up after herself, too.”

If possible, he blushes even more. Hinata wonders at his age, thinks he’s looks as though he could very well have been in her year.

Ignoring his own pronounced blush, he playfully asks, “Oh, wow. Are you scolding me?”

And then it’s Hinata’s turn to blush, because _yes_ , she is. That is exactly what she’s doing, and realizing it makes her want to laugh out loud, but she keeps it in and tries to look intimidating enough to make him abide by her.

“Yes,” she admits, and her smile sneaks through her tough-girl cover. “Sort of. I won’t have to scold you if you know how to clean it up.”

“Oh, shit,” he suddenly blurts, eyes widening. “You own these training grounds, right? Shit. Shit, shit. I messed up your own personal grounds, didn’t I?”

She raises her hands consolingly, trying to tamp down his nervous rambling.

“It’s okay,” she explains. “We do own these grounds but they’re open for public shinobi use. You’re not in trouble. It’s actually a personal preference, really.”

She coughs lightly into her fist. “I spend the most time here, so I like to make sure it’s kept well.”

His eyes, still wide and piercingly expressive, search her face as if to ensure that she’s really not angry. After a moment, he exhales heavily, shoulders deflating with the flow of it. “Oh man, okay. I thought I screwed up for sure. This’ll teach me, huh? And oh, just, for the record, I can _totally_ clean this up.”

Happy to hear it, she merely bobs her head and says, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Oh,” he responds, as she turns and leaps across to another piece of shattered earth, protruding from the ground like a great underworld spearhead. “You’re done training for today, then?”

“Mm,” she hums, turning back to face him. He runs a hand through his dusty hair, smiling over at her, conspicuously hopeful.

“I’ll see you around?” he asks, but the way he says it makes it feel like a statement. The careful precision of it makes Hinata pause, blinking curiously.

She lifts a hand in farewell, and leaves him with a single word and a polite smile.

“Maybe.”

Hinata runs at a steady pace through the clearing, heading towards the tree line. She can feel Kawabuchi Ren’s eyes on her the entire way, but it doesn’t give her a bad feeling, or make her feel _watched_. It’s simply surprising, and peculiar, and maybe just a little unsettling, given how unused to such attention she actually is.

She breaches the tree line, thoughts still slowly turning like cogs in a wheel over her surprising encounter when her senses alert her to a new presence, too close and too quick for her to even bother activating her Byakugan.

Not that she’d need to, anyways.

She lifts her nose to the faint trace of citrus on the breeze, and leaps down from a branch just in time to see Naruto, still in his jounin vest and accompanying apparel, descend from the canopy in front of her. He lands in a crouch and bounces immediately to his feet; he’s already striding towards her by the time she straightens, his entire entrance executed smoothly, all in one great motion.

He gathers her into his arms the moment they’re close enough, and she fists her hands in his vest, leaning into his warmth. He smells fresh, clean, and even more like citrus than usual. She presses her nose to the fabric of his undershirt and smiles against his chest, muttering a breathy, “welcome back.”

“I’m home,” he teases, breath playing through the strands of her hair. He runs a hand over her head in a soothing motion, carding his fingers through the ends of her hair almost absentmindedly.

“You’re uninjured?” she asserts, making it a statement. She pulls back and studies his expression with wide eyes and a stubborn smile she couldn’t hide even if she’d tried. This easy intimacy between them still surprises her, only a few months after their first kiss, but it truly _is_ easy. She doesn’t even question the ability to walk straight into his open arms, or the fact that he opens them specifically for her at all. Their closeness feels natural, even as it grows languidly between them.

Naruto beams down at her, pushing some of her hair over her shoulder.

“Of course! Who do you think I am?”

She squints at him teasingly, pulling back even further to pretend to look him over.

“Hey!” he exclaims, laughter wrapped up in that single syllable. “Don’t even pretend not to know me!”

“Yes, yes,” she sighs, finally stepping completely away from him. His words seem to remind him of something, and she watches as his eyes lift over her shoulder and trail directly in the path that would lead to Ren. She wonders if he can’t actually see right through the tree trunks, his gaze is so steady and sure. He turns back to her with a petulant frown.

“Speaking of not knowing people,” he grumbles under his breath, barely audible. “Who was that guy?”

She finds herself feeling surprised, not only that he could sense Ren from this distance without any noticeable disturbances in the earth or the air, but also because he clearly knows that she had interacted with him. She glances over her shoulder, in Ren’s direction, as if she could possibly see him without activating her Byakugan.

“Kawabuchi Ren,” she recites, turning back to Naruto with a curiously lifted brow.

“Does he train here often?”

Hinata laughs outright at that, and instantly feels bad when she sees the stubborn confusion on his face as a result. She waves a hand, saying, “Sorry, but I asked him the same exact thing.”

Naruto takes that in and after a moment his normal, brilliant smile unwinds over his features. He rubs the back of his head gaily, eyes crinkling.

“And come to think of it,” she realizes, expression pinching a little. “He didn’t answer that particular question. I haven’t seen or sensed him here often, though?”

“Hm,” Naruto hums, expression falling only slightly. With pursed lips and a rather suspiciously thrown sideways glance in Ren’s direction, he gestures for her to precede him out of the forest. They walk together, discussing parts of his long-term mission, which had taken longer than even he had anticipated, and parts of her few short-term missions as well. They’re careful with what they divulge, understanding and respecting their duty above all else.

They bump arms and at times hands as they walk, neither of them yet confident enough, apparently, to reach out and intertwine their fingers together. Even if they had kissed a few times now, holding hands feels an entirely new and scary leap of ground neither of them is familiar with. Considering that Naruto had been the one to kiss her first, she thinks it’s only fair that she eventually initiates the first time they hold hands.

She’s still in the process of working herself up for it.

“So,” she starts, as they squeeze through a thin alleyway between the skeletal structures of buildings still being constructed. “How did you find me?”

Naruto snorts, rolling his eyes at her in his best haughty daimyo impersonation.

“S’not hard!” He boasts, brushing a fist against his chest. He peers down at her in amusement, with heat in his cheeks and a bounce in his step. “I stopped by the compound and found Hanabi-chan there. Got her to spill the beans.”

Hinata stops walking, eyebrows jumping high. Naruto turns back to her, curious.

“You got Hanabi to tell you where I was?”

“It was easy,” he brags, thrusting his shoulders back proudly. He beams at her, utterly unaware of her shock. “Easier than I expected. I must be _that_ awesome.”

 _Or Hanabi is just_ that _supportive of this growing relationship_ , Hinata thinks, _especially if it means bypassing a perfectly good opportunity to prank Naruto-kun_.

“That must be it,” she agrees smartly, picking their pace back up as casually as she can. Hanabi is known for pulling pranks on people older than her, mostly because she finds it amusing and it takes away from the general boredom of her generation. The girl is a prodigy, through and through.

So if she hadn’t offered a single obstacle in Naruto’s path to get to Hinata, then either she truly values the depth of their growing relationship, or—

Or she somehow knew that Kawabuchi Ren would be at the training grounds, and wanted to see how Naruto would react to their interaction. The urge to roll her eyes is strong, but she tampers it down and promises herself to have a little discussion with her little sister later.

It’s Hanabi’s mistake, thinking that Naruto would be headstrong or possessive enough to threaten someone just for having a conversation with Hinata—if that was even Hanabi’s angle at all. Sometimes, she doesn’t have malicious intentions, though more often than not she _does_. Sometimes, she simply likes to unleash pieces onto the board and see how they interact, for the fun of it.

Hinata feels a headache coming on.

“So she told you that I was at these grounds?”

“She told me _exactly_ where you were. Like, gave me coordinates and everything.”

 _Little schemer_ , Hinata thinks, even while she’s overcome with affection.

“Hm,” she replies, picturing Hanabi’s smug face. “Did you just get back then?”

“I debriefed and washed up first,” he admits. “Didn’t want to crush you with my body odor.”

Hinata snorts, shaking her head. “Thank you for that.”

He casts her a playful look, whining, “Hinata! You wouldn’t want me if I was smelly?”

Hinata blushes all the way to the tips of her ears and immediately thinks, _I’d want you any way I could have you, always._

That seems a bit much for someone who has only kissed him a couple of times, and has yet to even hold his hand.

“How smelly?” she plays along, pulling a grave expression.

“Hey,” he whines, poking her in the side. “You’re supposed to say, ‘of course I would!’”

Hinata, gathering up her courage and feeling it swell in her chest, asks, “Would you still want me if _I_ was smelly?”

Naruto doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course I would! Your smelly is probably still somehow not that smelly, though.”

Her heart settles in her chest, almost palpably soothed. She sighs quietly, keeps it to herself, and announces, “I’d want you even if you smelled worse than that time we had to fix the broken sewage lines on the south side of the village.”

Naruto pauses, turning to her with a newly considering expression, brows raised high and lips pursed around a smile.

“Damn,” he laughs, “that’s what a guy likes to hear!”

“Please don’t stop bathing because of this, Naruto-kun.”

“ _Hinata_ , come on.” He points up to a roof to their left and leaps up onto it with ease, waiting a moment for her to follow. “I’m an adult. I shower.”

“Often?”

He throws her another of those pleasantly surprised looks, and she wonders if he’s startled because she’s joking with him. That’s probably it; she’s normally so quiet and reserved that he probably never expected her to have jokes. To his wonderfully apparent delight, she thinks proudly, he is mistaken.

“ _Hinata_.” He laughs outright, and then he’s reaching towards her, his fingers sliding along her palm and intertwining with her own. Her heart leaps up and she can almost feel it in her throat, making it hard to breathe. Incredulously, she thinks, _this was supposed to be my move,_ and then she tightens her grip around his hand, hurrying a bit to be closer to his side, to lessen the strain between their arms.

“You just wait,” he continues on, as if this is not a big deal. “I’m gonna be the cleanest guy in Konoha, dattebayo! I’ll smell like roses, even.”

She almost, _almost_ mentions the citrus. But then she sees Ichiraku Ramen up ahead and her stomach, famished from training all morning and into the afternoon with only a minimal breakfast, chooses this time to growl ferociously.

Naruto is in _stitches_ , his shocked expression flushed with his laughter. She uses her free hand to hide her face, so utterly embarrassed, but he just straightens and pats his stomach loudly, letting her hear the hollowness of it.

“I’m starving,” he says, and they leap over a couple rooftops until they’re able to drop down in front of Ichiraku, where Naruto is immediately greeted like royalty.

“Naruto! Long time no see, kid!”

“Far too long,” he greets, beaming at Teuchi, the owner and long-time friend of his and Iruka-sensei’s. “How’ve you been, old man?”

“Fine, fine,” he calls over his shoulder, as Naruto leads Hinata to their stools. He releases her hand and she frowns down at her stomach, since her hunger is indirectly responsible for them no longer holding hands. “Missed your business, and your company. How many you wanna start with?”

Naruto meets Hinata’s gaze, and she shrugs, whispering, “Two?”

He looks prepared to laugh at her, as though she’s told a seriously funny joke, but when he realizes she’s serious he becomes comically solemn.

“Hinata, are you sure? You need the protein! The carbs! The _energy_. Two bowls is like…it’s like…that’s nothing at all. At _least_ four bowls. At _least_.”

Hinata feels nauseated just thinking about eating four entire bowls of ramen, or anything, really. Especially in one sitting.

“I think two might be my limit.” When Naruto continues to stare seriously at her, she concedes with, “I can always order more?”

That seems to satisfy him, at least for the moment. He orders four bowls for himself, and she orders two of her own, and he and Teuchi make up for lost time by filling each other in on local ramen media. Hinata, liberated from the conversation because of her lack of ramen-knowledge, takes the time to admire the homey interior of the ramen stand. She glances over her shoulder and for the first time notices the crowds along the street, and the packs of teenagers just behind them.

One group of teenagers in particular catches her eye as they shuffle closer behind Naruto. It’s clear from a single glance that several of them are interested enough in him to want to call his attention to them. She doesn’t mind their focus on him, mostly because she can understand it.

He is the village hero, savior of Konoha, and one of the strongest, most influential shinobi of their times. He is also the kindest, most compassionate individual she knows. And that’s all without taking into account the radiance of his smile, and the way his eyes flash with joy like overturning waves of the deep blue sea.

She’s grown used to seeing people stop Naruto on the street just to speak with him, or ask him questions, or thank him. Some just want to shake his hand. Even before they had grown close like this, close enough to kiss, and hold hands, she had seen the way people flocked to Naruto on the streets, like someone famous.

Well, that’s certainly because he _is_.

Of course, Hinata is human, and there are certain circumstances, with certain encounters, that Hinata cannot watch. Not when they involve young men and women offering Naruto gifts and invitations to go on dates with them, wanting to get to know him as someone more than the village hero, or a potential friend, but as a potential significant other.

It’s all too easy for her dormant self-consciousness to rise up and squash the confidence she’s worked so hard to foster and grow and sustain. There are so many beautiful, incredible people in the world—what makes her so special? Why would Naruto stay by her side if he had the opportunity to pick _anyone_ , from such a diverse and complex pool of interesting people?

Confidence is a fickle companion. Hinata knows this intimately. But she also knows that she has good reason to be confident, and that it is okay to love and value herself. It’s just that, in these moments with Naruto rubbing self-consciously at the back of his neck, using that same sunshine-bright expression on strangers presenting him with gifts and invitations, sometimes she has to retreat and protect herself from negative thoughts.

Hinata knows herself to be a tolerant person, passive and generally forgiving. But watching countless people, one after another after another, confess to the man she’s been in love with nearly her entire life? Even she has her limits.

Teenagers are less of a headache, because they’re so obviously young and star struck. That’s not to say that they do not fall in love as strongly as adults, or that their feelings in regards to Naruto are any less real than her own, but that Naruto is too respectable a person to entertain them for long. Once he realizes that they’re not after a simple conversation, or training advice, or mentorship, he extricates himself from the situation rather skillfully. It makes Hinata smile every time she sees it, lit up from the inside with amusement at his expense.

Now, she watches a group of young girls, probably nearing their chuunin exams, approach him. They don’t even seem to notice Hinata, which is fine, and move up beside Naruto with ease. Hinata takes the time to gather her hair up in a high ponytail, not wanting it to get into her food. She secures it with a sturdy tie and startles slightly when she hears a voice say, “Naruto-kun!”

Naruto startles, too, clearly hearing the similarity of the voice to Hinata’s. He turns over his shoulder and smiles politely at the group, greeting them easily. Teuchi slides their first bowls over to them and Hinata easily accepts Naruto’s from the squinting man, putting them down in front of him but far enough away from his elbow so that he won’t knock them over when he turns back around.

“Thank you,” she says, watching Teuchi bob his head in response. She blows on her noodles for a moment, flipping the long tail of her hair over her shoulder. Her first bite is too hot for comfort, but delicious all the same. She spoons another bite and blows on it, only listening with half an ear to the zealous conversations taking place beside her.

“You’re so cool! Naruto-sempai!”

“How long did it take you to learn the Rasengan?”

“How did you make your own jutsu?”

“I want to do the Rasen-shuriken!”

“What’s it like being the Hokage’s student?”

“He’s so handsome, don’t you think?”

“Shh, he’ll hear you!”

“Maybe I want him to hear me.”

Hinata blinks at the confidence in that last remark, staring distractedly into her ramen.

“Uh,” Naruto pauses, not knowing which conversation to follow when they continue to pile up on top of him. Hinata almost wants to whisper _you can do it_ for encouragement, but thinks he’ll only get more confused with another voice in his ear. So instead, she glances up and catches sight of Teuchi’s daughter, Ayame, mad-dogging the teenagers with a severe expression. She catches Hinata’s gaze and rolls her eyes, pointing at them and shaking her head. Hinata merely smiles in mutual understanding.

“Hey!” Ayame finally calls, stomping over with her hands perched on her hips. “Let him eat, his food’s getting cold.”

This is terrible news for both Naruto and the teenagers; none of them take it well. Naruto turns back to his food with a quick parting wave to the teens, and cups the bowl in his hands to make sure it is, in fact, still hot. He sighs, apparently pleased when the heat seeps through to his skin. The teenagers, less complacent than Naruto, snarl at Ayame and only move to the other side of the road in a huddle of conversation, clearly intending to ambush Naruto the moment he finishes eating.

“Thank you for the food!” he calls out, beaming as he breaks his chopsticks. He jumps right in and has half of the bowl down before Hinata can take another bite. She once again catches Ayame’s amused gaze and watches her mouth _things never change_.

Naruto has powered through three of his five bowls of ramen, and Hinata is just finishing her second, when he turns to her with a smiling mouth covered in juice.

“Ramen is the _best_ ,” he crows, leaning back in his seat euphorically.

“It’s very good,” Hinata agrees. After a moment of contemplation, she asks, “Hey, Naruto-kun?”

“Mm?”

“Do you mind the attention?”

When he turns to her with full cheeks and a confused expression, she elaborates. “When people come up to you on the streets,” she begins, the adoring faces of the teenagers just behind them flashing in her mind. “Do you mind it?”

Naruto chews on the thought for a while, adding some ramen along with it. He straightens and chews pensively for a long moment, swallowing with a sigh. When he turns back to her, his expression is restful, content.

“I don’t mind it,” he says, “but it’s totally weird. I never know how to react. Mostly people just wanna talk, which is awesome! I’ve even come to Ichiraku a few times just to talk with some people. It’s so weird, ya know?”

Hinata nods, mulling over that with interest. She tries not to get hung up on what it means that Naruto has eaten with others, just like he is now, with her, just to have conversation. For a flickering moment, quick as a bird’s passing shadow, she wonders if that’s all this is to him.

“But, to be honest,” he adds, tone suddenly falling, becoming solemn. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

Hinata can do nothing but think about his past, his childhood, and her heart swells for him.

“Maybe,” she responds quietly, contemplative. “But I think it’s been a long time coming, and it’s well-deserved. Your popularity.”

Naruto rubs idly at the back of his neck, not really looking at her. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Naruto doesn’t say anything in return, merely dives back in to his ramen with renewed verve. The slight flush along his exposed nape says more than enough, anyways.

She turns back to her ramen as well, and finds herself enjoying it more than she had before. The taste is wonderful, definitely not the most exotic of flavors, but a familiar one she has grown to enjoy.

The persistent breeze, an amalgamation of spices and smoke, flutters through the shop; it blows through the flaps pinned to the overhang, and brings the tail end of her hair over her shoulder and almost into her food. In her haste to swish it back and away again while also lifting a spoonful of ramen to her lips, she ends up in a slightly messy situation. She cleans herself up quickly, pretending like she can’t see Naruto casting an amused eye in her direction, and is so nervous she doesn’t even realize she’s missed a spot.

Naruto moves the hand he’d been using to hold his bowl steady and rubs the pad of his thumb over one corner of her lips, eyes following the movement.

“Hey,” he says when he sees her cheeks flare in embarrassment, “have you _seen_ me eat ramen? This is nothing! It was actually kinda cute.”

“Embarrassing,” she mutters, wishing her hair was down so she could hide behind the veil of it.

“It’s not,” he promises with a laugh, beaming at her. “You can clean my face, too, if you want. You’ll be busy constantly, though! Work hard!”

She laughs along with him, and before long they’ve both finished their meals, with minimal face-cleaning turning out to be necessary. They don’t leave immediately afterwards, though, not even when Teuchi and Ayame take their bowls and wash them, setting them aside to dry.

They sit there together and just talk, enjoying the carefree spirit of Ichiraku, with its few customers and quiet music playing from somewhere in the back. It’s easy, sitting here with Naruto, swapping stories and telling tales. It’s easy, and it’s fun, and there’s nothing else in the world that Hinata would rather be doing in this same moment.

By the time they have a break in conversation, the first touch of evening reaches into the shop; it spills deep pastels across the sky, turning everything they touch into something softer, and darker, and leaving behind a feeling of illusion.

Hinata slides from her stool and Naruto follows suit, surprised at the change in the sky. It’s late enough that the teenagers from before had apparently given up and headed off without interrupting Naruto again, which Hinata almost feels bad about.

She and Naruto part from Teuchi and Ayame with genial smiles and hearty thanks, and step out onto the street with full bellies and warm hearts.

They arrive in front of the Hyuuga compound too soon, and stand awkwardly together before the front gate. Hinata is already fairly certain her presence has been noted; these gates are a formality, really. They’re no obstacle for the eyes that lie behind them.

Hinata’s own piercing eyes turn to trace Naruto’s shadowed features. His head is still bent, shoulders hunched forward, and Hinata realizes abruptly that he’s nervous. She hadn’t understand this posture before—so uncharacteristic of Naruto, who usually stands with shoulders thrust back and head held high—but something in the tension of his shoulders and the way he fists his hands in his pockets gives him away. He glances up a little, looking at her through the fringe of his hair, still so delightfully long, and studies her expression with apt attention.

He grins sheepishly, jutting his chin out towards the compound. He mutters, “Kinda inconvenient, don’t you think?”

Hinata frowns. “What is?”

She watches him scuff the toe of his sandal across the dirt, his eyes not meeting hers.

“Ya know,” he clears his throat, and Hinata’s stunned silence only makes his inability to get the words out seem even stranger. He’s uncharacteristically nervous, for some reason, and she’s both curious and delighted by this new side of him that she has never seen before. He sighs, shoulders heaving, and finally lifts his gaze to meet her own. He studies the questions there, flickering through the pale pools of her unique gaze, and his smile when he finally finds his words is _bashful_.

“Not having your own place.”

It takes Hinata a moment to comprehend what he has said, for her mind to wrap around what he’s so blatantly implying, before she feels her face burn. Her stomach clenches, her chest suddenly feeling tight, but even with the nerves racing down her spine in a cascade of chills, she knows _exactly_ what he means.

She feels it too; enough to overcome her nerves at his bold admission and respond with utter sincerity. Her voice doesn’t even shake.

“It is, isn’t it?” she says, and watches the way his expression turns and brightens like first light. His words come easily, then, with her own admission in the air between them, nearly as substantial as a promise.

“I have my own place, if you ever wanna come over.” He pauses, seems to realize something, and admits in a rush, “It’s not very big, though.”

Hinata’s brows hitch up in surprise, not because of his admission, but because of what it clearly implies. One doesn’t have to be a genius to know that Naruto has become one of the most prominent shinobi of their time, not to mention the hero of the village. The rank of jounin is the very least of his titles, and that’s _saying_ something.

So it follows, then, that Naruto is not deficient in terms of funds. In fact, Hinata knows for a fact that he is one of the highest paid shinobi in the village, most certainly of his generation, and even more so than some of his seniors.

As such, Hinata finds it curious that even with an undeniable influx of compensation, Naruto still manages to live in a tiny apartment, just as he had before he’d been anyone other than the village pariah. She finds the surprise leaving a melancholic taste on the back of her throat; maybe his experience as a young boy on his own is the reason he chooses to live in modest terms, even with the ability to do otherwise.

Once the thought has passed through her conscious awareness, she knows that it’s true.

“I’d love to.” She speaks quietly, sincerely; a depth of feeling poised behind every word. “If you’re available some time this weekend, I can make us dinner there. If that’s okay.”

“Really?” Naruto asks, shoulders thrusting back as he pumps his fist into the air. _This_ , she thinks, is the Naruto she knows. “ _Awesome_. Come over on Sunday, okay?”

Startled, she nods even as she says, “I’ll have to make sure I don’t have a mission. But, yes, okay.”

“Oh, right,” he snorts, hitting his forehead. “Totally forgot. I should probably check, too.”

Amused at his childlike enthusiasm, she merely nods her head and steps in close to him, until her hands can rest lightly over his chest, and the tip of her nose touches his jaw. He stands stock still, wide eyes staring down at her, waiting for her to move. It occurs to Hinata that this might be the first time she has ever made the first move, and maybe that’s why he’s startled, waiting for her, encouraging her only in the way his lips part and his breath comes out quiet and curled around her name, a near-silent plea.

She presses a kiss to his jaw, her lips trembling, before lifting onto the tips of her toes and closing her eyes, finally moving to test the softness of his lips. They’re chapped again, something that concerns her for only a fraction of a second before she’s distracted by his hands sliding over her hips, pulling her into the warmth of his larger body.

In this moment, she doesn’t care whose eyes may be watching, Byakugan-activated or not. They’re out in the open, in front of her compound, not trying to hide a single thing from anyone, not even themselves, and it’s beautiful.

Hinata will not regret this choice; not even when some seniors tease her relentlessly the next morning in the market, until her temperature rises so high she thinks she might melt right through the floorboards.

She’ll take all the teasing in the world, if it means getting to hold Naruto in her arms without hesitation or fear.

She remembers the time before she’d ever really talked to Naruto, before she’d ever been brave enough to get to know him personally, before she’d ever confessed her feelings to him.

And she remembers Pain, the person and the reality, who’d nearly killed her—

—for protecting Naruto, when he’d barely even known who she was.

If the price of holding Naruto is her pride, then it’s a price she will gladly pay.

She’s paid higher prices for less, after all.

 

✧ 

 

Sunday evening rolls around quicker than Hinata is expecting, but she is readily prepared for it, anyways. She’d had two shifts to cover at Ino’s flower shop and half a shift to cover at the hospital, with a few sporadic sparring sessions in-between, all before Saturday afternoon. That left her an entire evening and the following morning to gather the proper supplies for dinner, which she utilized fully.

Kiba came shopping with her, grumbling all the while about being safe and kicking Naruto’s ass if he gets, in Kiba’s words, “too handsy.” She spent most of the evening consoling him, explaining that she isn’t yet ready for much more than kissing, which was already too much for Kiba to hear without feeling twitchy.

He carried her bags for her, glad to be of assistance since he actually loathed shopping altogether. She appreciated his help, though, because the dinner she has planned requires a decent amount of preparation, and while she’d have been just fine carrying her own bags, the obstruction of bags on her arms would’ve hindered her while browsing through isles. Akamaru had allowed Kiba to sit on his back when he got bored of going in the shops with her, and she’d bought him and Kiba both treats from a familiar vendor for being so patient with her.

Now, with the beginnings of Sunday evening in full swing, Hinata heads towards Naruto’s place with all of her grocery bags hanging from her arms. They’re nothing compared to the normal weights she lifts and wears during training, but the material cuts slightly into the crease of her elbow and is heavy enough to make her fingers tingly.

She heads up to Naruto’s door, following the instructions he’d written down for her in his messy, jagged scrawl until she reaches his room and knocks gently against the door. He’s there in seconds, whipping the door open and beaming down at her.

His eyes drop to the multitude of bags and he whistles lowly, brows rising.

“You making a feast?” he asks, sounding hopeful. She snorts, stepping past him with a quiet, “Sorry for intruding.”

He allows her a moment to look around the place, taking the bags from her arms with quick, jerky movements and heading over to what she assumes is the kitchen. He most certainly had not been lying about his apartment not being very big. From her perch just inside the front door, she can see a well-used living room with a single, tiny couch covered in pillows and blankets, and a small table with old ramen containers stacked atop it. On the other side of the room is a thin futon that doesn’t look nearly long enough for a man of Naruto’s height. If she were a gambling kind of girl, she’d bet a fortune that his feet hang over the end of it.

The kitchen is in the middle of what is apparently his conjoined living room and bedroom, and from what she can see of it, there’s clearly not a lot of space in there, either. She moves into the place with open curiosity, smiling at the tiny figurines scattered around the room, the few scattered posters, a heavily marked calendar, and several pictures on the mantle above his miniature fireplace.

The pictures fascinate her the most, beckoning her to them.

There are some that are simply charming, like the ones with him posing with the Kazekage, another with the Raikage’s brother, some showing influential people looking equal parts disgruntled and fond standing next to him, and several group photos with people Hinata knows by face more so than in name. His mantel is covered with small frames, and even more are taped to the wall above it, every one of them showing his jubilant grin. He’s not in the center of all of them, but he stands out easily to Hinata. She finds the picture of Naruto and Konohamaru posing in their sexy-no-jutsu beyond hilarious, if a little embarrassing, and the photo beside it of him, Gai-sensei, and Rock Lee all in their green jumpsuits even more so.

Even more fascinating, however, than the countless photographs of Naruto’s distant friends and companions, are the simple few of his family.

The first is of him on Iruka-sensei’s shoulders, and he can’t be more than ten, his teeth still crooked and his face smudged. It’s slightly blurred, a clear action shot, but the fond disgruntlement on Iruka-sensei’s face, and the unmasked delight of Naruto’s open laughter shows clearly how close the two of them are. It makes sense that Naruto would love it all the same, even with its fuzzy constitution.

The next is Naruto at Ichiraku, holding up twin peace signs and smiling so wide his eyes crinkle shut. Teuchi and Ayame are on either side of him, smiles soft and amused, with Ichiraku towering just behind them. There’s a bib with Ichiraku’s brand symbol tied around Naruto’s neck, and a noodle on his chin.

Her eyes trace lovingly over his face, so radiant in his joy, and flit to what is clearly the oldest photo of the bunch: his team picture. She studies each of their faces, smiling at Kakashi-sensei’s warm amusement, Sasuke’s petulant displeasure, Sakura’s undeniable delight, and finally, Naruto’s young resentment. They’re all so little, she thinks. Had they ever been so innocent? Even the picture of Naruto on Iruka-sensei’s shoulders seemed newer than this one. She finds her eyes returning to the image of Sasuke, and her heart aches for Team 7’s loss. For Naruto’s loss.

It’s not a permanent, involuntary loss, like that of a death. It’s timeless, and chosen, with the direction of it all depending on Sasuke. There’s still a chance.

But sometimes, that’s worse.

She moves quickly, then, to the last picture, feeling that Team 7’s portrait is far too intimate a thing for her to study so intently. She finds another picture of Naruto and Iruka-sensei, this time with Kakashi-sensei as well. They stand on either side of Naruto, and while he beams between them, a chip of the sun cast down to glow radiantly on Earth, the adults on either side of him appear a comical mixture of amused and disgruntled. Iruka-sensei, the disgruntled party, seems to have just experienced a rather inappropriately timed touch to his derrière from one incredibly amused and mischievous copy-nin, just as the camera flashed. A few strands of pink hair had fallen into the upper right corner of the picture.

It makes Hinata huff out a laugh, shaking her head and standing up from her crouch. She turns and finds Naruto leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest, expression indistinct and nostalgic. He’s staring at the pictures, just behind her, and his lips curl into a perceptive smile.

When he turns back to her and meets her eyes, his voice is soft as a whisper.

“Ready?”

She heads over towards him, suddenly mischievous. “Are you?”

He raises his brows, lips curling at the corners. She moves past him into the kitchen and surveys her surroundings, the densely packed cabinets and the minimal room atop the counter. She sees all of her bags on the table pushed in the corner, and turns over her shoulder with an added gleam in her eyes.

“Wanna help?” she asks, but it’s clear in her stance and her stare that it’s not a question. Naruto nods blearily, pushing his sleeves up past his elbows and rubbing his hands together excitedly.

“I’m not very good at cooking,” he admits, “but I’m trying to get better. One day I’ll be the best, though, believe it!”

Hinata gives him a sympathetic look in return, and laughs when he calls her on it.

“Just you wait and see,” he promises, moving up behind her with a hand falling on the dip of her spine, guiding her towards the groceries. “My food will be _awesome_.”

“Practice does make perfect,” she says cheerily. “So let’s get started.”

As it turns out, Naruto truly has no proficiency in the kitchen. Ramen, cereal, and fruits that only need to be washed before being eaten seem to be his only culinary skills. He gets distracted easily; this surprises Hinata enough that she almost lets the bread burn, since Naruto’s favorite distraction seems to involve getting his hands tangled in her hair. Eventually, she has to put her hair up in a high tail to dissuade him, uncaring that this makes her blushing cheeks even more noticeable.

Her gesture fails, however, when Naruto continues to card his fingers through the long tail of her hair. He only stops when she chides him, explaining that they are going to get hair in the food. He only pouts for a few moments, before his next distraction falls into place: the ties of her apron.

It’s nothing near extravagant, a simple white apron with no frills that hitches around the back of her neck and ties around the waist. Naruto, however, is apparently fascinated with the bow over her tailbone. He unties it behind her back, sneakily enough that she only realizes it when she feels the material loosen. No matter how many times she scolds him, he continues to play with her, even while helping her prepare their meal. She starts giving him tasks that require longer bouts of attention, and he catches on immediately, what with the resulting gleam in his eyes.

It turns out to be a night full of laughter, the both of them feeling playful and silly while moving around in the tiny expanse of his kitchen. Once she gets familiar with the locations of different things, and can move around without having to ask Naruto where to find something, she becomes more comfortable. The only issue is that because of the sheer lack of space, she’s nearly always pressed against Naruto in some way. It causes a constant fire that builds under her skin, spreading throughout her entire body, making her hands quiver.

Naruto doesn’t even hesitate to take full advantage of it; he leans on her, brushes past her, makes sure that every time he moves she can _feel_ it. By the time dinner is ready and her apron is triple-knotted and secure behind her back, she’s exhausted from the sheer number of times her temperature has leapt and dropped.

He’s already in his seat by the time she turns around and heads over to him, sliding his plate in front of him. She tidies their small mess and puts the leftover items in his refrigerator and cabinets, turning over her shoulder with a disapproving glance.

“I can’t believe how little food you have,” she chides. “You should always have sources of protein, at least. And anything dark green is your friend, Naruto-kun.”

Naruto merely sticks his tongue out.

“I’m going to leave everything here for you,” she says, not taking no for an answer as she shuffles items in his fridge, back turned to him. “There’s enough here to make several simple, nutritious dishes. If you’re too tired for that, most of this can be eaten as is, or after simply being cooked. The fruits will go bad soon, though, so eat them quickly.”

By the time she stands up and turns back to him, he’s resting with his elbow on the table, his chin in the palm of his hand. His eyes are heavy and adoring, his smile a soft welcoming slip of expression. Flustered, she only frowns at him and takes her seat beside him, taking the first bite of their meal.

His voice, a shadow of a whisper, sends chills down her spine. “Is it good?”

She nods, tense under his study. “I think so.”

He takes a bite and hums around the flavor, sitting back in his seat with a messy grin. He groans, saying, “It’s good.”

A pause, wide enough for another bite.

“Shit,” he laughs, “it’s _really_ good.”

Hinata does _not_ preen.

“We work well together.” She says it without thinking about it, not really, and only realizes it might take on a deeper, more intimate connotation when she sees the look on Naruto’s face.

“We do,” he agrees, easily, heartily, without any hesitation.

Hinata ducks her head and eats quietly after that, toes curled against the hardwood floor. Her heart races throughout the entire meal, turning the track of a race she still feels unprepared for. They eat peacefully, slowly, listening to the hum of Naruto’s kitchen lights and the deteriorating drone of voices and activity through his window, telling of the uprising of the moon, and the movement of people heading home for the night.

When they’re both finished, Naruto stretches tall and loud, and makes as if to leave his plate behind on the table. When Hinata gives him a grave look, one that dashes between him and the plate, he laughs outright and retrieves it. He mutters something about her and Iruka-sensei both, but she misses most of it.

He tosses his plate into the sink but doesn’t wash it; Hinata thinks it’s a good start anyways, especially when he takes hers and adds it to the pile.

“Ah, well,” she starts hesitantly, sliding from her seat. “It’s getting late.”

Naruto fluffs the back of his hair, running his fingers through it idly and leaving it in a wild state of disarray that he’s unbothered by. His voice is a mere suggestion, but Hinata can hear the hopeful note behind it.

“You can stay, if you want.”

In this moment, Hinata knows two things for certain. The first is that Naruto suggests this without any intention of doing anything more than kissing her tonight. She knows this because of his nervousness, and his hesitation when she’d kissed him days earlier, and because she _knows_ him.

The second is that she cannot stay.

Her heart is a bastion, heated and uplifted by his kindness and his affections, and it pumps tirelessly in her chest just to see another of Naruto’s shy smiles directed at her. But that does not change the fact that she cannot stay, that something inside of her doesn’t yet feel that the time is right to spend the night with Naruto, no matter how _badly_ she wants to.

And she does. She does, she does, she does—very nearly more than she wants anything in the world, in this moment. She wants to stay.

And somehow, that’s exactly the reason she can’t.

Her smile is mixed parts tender and penitent, her eyes heavy with responsibility. She thinks of Hanabi, of setting a good example of self-respect and self-restraint, and she knows that she’s making the right decision, no matter how much it irks her. She moves out of the kitchen until she’s at his front door, sliding her sandals back on, knowing that he’ll follow her.

She opens the door and steps over the threshold until she’s immersed more in the night air than in the combined scents of citrus and homemade food and company, all so strongly _Naruto_ ’s. When she turns back to him, he is noticeably more hesitant than before, and maybe the slightest bit confused.

She lifts a hand to his jaw and finally allows the emotions she’d tamped down upon hearing his offer rise to the surface, lighting her up from the inside until he can see nothing but the longing within her. She wonders if he can hear the flutter of her pulse, if he can see the way she loves him from her soul outwards, straight through her eyes.

“Thank you. I’ll remember that,” she whispers, tracing her thumb lightly along his cheekbone. “For next time.”

These words, or maybe this touch, more than anything, release the sudden tension in Naruto’s body. His shoulders deflate heavily, his features relaxing, and he seems to wilt around her all at once. His arms slide around her neck, fingers slipping once again into her hair, rubbing gentle circles against her scalp. His shoulders block the night air and shelter her in warmth, and she can feel his pulse in his throat, fluttering against her cheek.

“Yeah,” he breathes, nodding against her. “Okay.”

 _Okay_ , she thinks, pressing closer.

And it is.


	4. Chapter 4

Time passes swiftly, like the turning of pages in the breeze, until the trees have let fall every leaf and the clouded sky intermittently opens to part with its moisture. The flush and warmth of autumn bleeds out into another colorless winter, and Hinata finds herself signing the final document precluding ownership of her new apartment.

For several weeks, she had sought a comfortable place to make her own. Her friends aided her to the best of their abilities, which were extensive, given that the majority of them had been living on their own for years. They gave her the best advice, explaining so much about the village she eventually began to wonder if she’d actually really known this place, her _home_ , at all.

They told her which areas have the best plumbing, best view, closest access to shops, or training grounds; which locations have the lowest rates, the sturdiest foundations, the most efficient water pressure. They knew just about everything she could’ve ever imagined, even more than a few of the realtors she had initially called into the fray.

Aided with all of their knowledge and experience—poor, poor Rock Lee and the several month stint he’d been forced to pull in the area with both the worst plumbing and most inconsistent water system (but with a “spectacularly youthful view,”)—she eventually finds just the right place.

Finding it had been relatively easy, actually; the difficult part had been convincing her father to approve of the move.

 _That_ had taken months.

Ultimately, he had compromised on the condition that she remain relatively close to the compound, and pledge to guide Hanabi through her new role of clan heiress. That is, until she’s able to assert herself competently on her own. Hanabi had always had the personality and the drive to be a leader; Hinata had not. In fact, she had always known that her personality and her character had never felt suitable for her position as clan heiress, so stepping down had not bothered her in the slightest. It helps that she knows with certainty that Hanabi will be a better, more capable leader for their family than Hinata probably ever could have been—and more, that she will enjoy it.

The official decision for her to step down had been hush-hush for months, until it _wasn’t_ , but even still, her nickname of ‘princess’ and her designation as heiress follow her everywhere she goes. After a while, she stopped trying to correct people when they hailed her with such titles. As it seems, some things just stick. She thinks of them more as nicknames than anything else, and they don’t bother her. Her only worry had been that they might bother _Hanabi_ , but after having brought it up, Hanabi had simply told her not to be ridiculous.

“ _I_ still refer to you as our clan’s princess,” she’d said, the epitome of self-satisfied. “I like the way they fawn over you.”

Hanabi rose up to her position under a stark night sky, speckled with glowing stars and the traces of swirling snowflakes decorating the air. She spoke the rights with poise and grace, and Hinata publically promised to advise her at every turn. With this final admission, both of her father’s commands were fulfilled.

Her new apartment is several blocks from the compound, but accessible enough through roof entry, should an emergency occur. It’s small, modest, and a skeletal wasteland when she purchases it. That’s fine with her—she has plenty of possessions to fill the space and make it her own. She does plan to immediately get some paint on the walls, however. The stark white of them makes her feel nauseated.

For a while, Sakura and Ino give her hell in the most doting, non-threatening way possible. In fact, all of their friends seem to know that her sudden desire to live alone is connected indefinitely to her growing relationship with Naruto.

Not that they’ve officially declared that they’re in a relationship.

They kiss sometimes, and they spend a lot of time together, and Hinata has spent a few nights sleeping on his futon and leaving early enough in the morning to leave breakfast behind for a still-sleeping Naruto. But they haven’t mentioned belonging to each other, not explicitly, and Hinata worries a little over it. It’s apparent that she’s cashed all her chips in with this relationship, and hasn’t ever had eyes for anyone else, ever.

But Naruto…he’s a bit of a wildcard.

She knows for a fact that he rarely sleeps alone. There’s always a friend over at his place, most often crashing for the night, and not always someone she’s familiar with. Admittedly, Sakura tells her that he doesn’t allow other girls, excluding Sakura, to spend the night, and all of the guys that do aren’t interested in him in _that_ way, not in the slightest.

She has every reason to trust him, and she does.

But she’s uncertain of where he thinks they stand.

Her closest friends agree that he’s entirely devoted to her; Sakura pointedly snarling, “He doesn’t even _look_ at other girls, Hinata,” and Kiba sulkily adding, “He never shuts up about you, either.”

Warmed by their support and reinforcement of her hopeful thoughts, she goes on about her business with the same optimistic approach. For months, she doesn’t tell Naruto about her big move, wanting to surprise him with the final reveal. It’s a struggle to keep it from him, but she’s never backed down from a challenge, and she knew she wasn’t about to start with this one. She commands all of her friends to keep it a secret, having to dole out some gentle fist persuasion when Ino tries to make her promise with her fingers crossed behind her back.

She somehow always seems to forget that Hinata can _literally_ see through her.

With all of their totally legitimate promises in her heart, she goes about the sneakiest plot of buying and beginning to furnish her tiny new home without letting Naruto find out about it. Another long-term mission that takes both Naruto and Sakura away from the village for several weeks further assists her plot.

While Sakura is gone, Ino steps in and helps her decorate. Mostly, she brings potted plants and flowers and stations them where Hinata wants them, then spends the rest of her time watering and tending to them, ensuring they’ll have proper sunlight exposure, while Hinata lugs in her essentials.

She takes Shino to the market with her and purchases a new mattress for her bed, splurging a little, and he helps her assemble her bed frame before placing it on top. He, too, tends to the plants Ino brought over, leaving behind a few of his bugs that feed off of specific soils and help foster plant growth.

She thanks him for it, especially since she needn’t tend to the bugs at all. The soil, the water, and the sunlight are all they need to survive and prosper. He assures her, in his own quiet and fussy way, that they will not procreate wildly or leave the planter. She hadn’t even been concerned about that, but she thanks him again with a warm hug nonetheless.

Kiba, good with his hands and used to woodworking, builds her a space-saving bookshelf for her tomes and fiction. At his request, she pays him in equal measures of hugs and sparring appointments. She throws in free dog-washing services and he very nearly kisses her.

Eventually, Hokage-sama starts picking off her friends like flies, issuing mission after mission until the only potential help she has left is Rock Lee, who has already promised his time to his sensei and some strange but, apparently, _invigorating_ training camp. Even Hinata isn’t spared from these missions, though she’s lucky enough to get an easy one that she completes successfully in just two days time.

Thus, when she returns from her mission and finds all of her friends still on missions of their own, she holes up in her new and still unfinished apartment. She spends copious amounts of time trying to decide on paint colors, flicking through a paint palette with several-hundred color options. When she still can’t decide on anything, she makes herself a quick meal instead of rejoining the crusade to unpack her belongings, which sit in boxes lining the far wall, untouched.

She has purchased most of what she needs, except for paint, so she doesn’t need to venture out to the market for a few days to come. She _does_ leave her apartment to train in the grounds just behind the Hyuuga compound, though. She takes a detour and is pleased to find that the land Kawabuchi Ren had destroyed had indeed been tended to, with almost too much precision.

She’s even more surprised to find him here, training by himself again.

He’s covered in cuts and bruises, some of which still bleed, and his hair—already wild and untamable—is somehow even _more_ so. Hinata assumes that he’s meditating, and immediately feels bad for intruding, but by the time she thinks to retreat and head for her normal spot without interrupting him, his eyes open and jump to her in surprise.

“Oh,” he says, at the same time that she tentatively calls, “Hello.”

Silence falls between them, and she approaches him uncertainly, lifting a nervous hand to wave.

“Sorry to intrude,” she says, “I was just…”

For some reason, she feels embarrassed to admit that she’d been so concerned about the condition of the grounds. She remembers him playfully asking her if she was scolding him, when she’d thought he planned to leave without tending to his destruction, and it makes her blush. His face lights up, though, and she knows he knows what she’d been about to divulge. He says as much, too, probably just to make her squirm.

“Just making sure I’d cleaned up after myself, right?”

She _does_ squirm, only slightly, but his laughter takes any sort of bite out of the words and leaves them playfully soothing. He uncrosses his legs and bounces to his feet, wincing slightly as though he’d forgotten that he has injuries. The medic in Hinata instantly takes over, rushing forward with hands outstretched, eyes searching for the worst of the damage.

“Where’s the worst of it?” she demands, turning his palm over in her hand and inhaling slightly at the gash there, deep enough to risk serious infection. “How did all of this happen? Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

“Which question would you like me to answer first?” he laughs, his amber eyes shining. “You’re looking at the worst of it.”

“And?”

“And…?”

Hinata settles her palm over his, letting her chakra flare to clean the wound of any debris or infection, and begins the process of sealing the skin back together. She offers a pointed look at his insubordinate refusal to answer her other questions.

“How did this happen?”

“Sparring, of course.”

Hinata’s ears perk at this, and her Byakugan is activated instantly as she focuses on the area immediately around them. She can find no one, not until—there, on the edge of the forest, walking back into the village. A young man, built wider around the middle and about the same height, covered in wounds of his own and suffering from labored breathing. He probably has fluid in his lungs.

“A friend of yours?” Hinata asks, still watching the man several miles away. He seems to be heading towards the hospital, clearly smarter or just less stubborn than her new friend Kawabuchi Ren. “At least _he_ knows to go to the hospital.”

Ren gives her an affronted look, eyes tracing over the uplifted veins beside her eyes. Usually people find it strange, sometimes fascinating. Some, though, find it gross. Kawabuchi Ren is not looking at her in a way that expresses anything even in the same neighborhood as being grossed out.

“Hey,” he jokes, uncaring of how his smile splits an already bleeding cut on the corner of his lips. “If I’d gone to the hospital, I would’ve missed your lovely presence.”

It’s clearly a joke, but the honest sentiment behind it is not lost on her. She deactivates her Byakugan and gives him a considering look, critical and disapproving. It only serves to encourage his apparent delight.

“Kawabuchi-san,” she scolds, “this wound could very easily have become infected had an experienced medic not seen to it.”

“Lucky chance that you found me then, Medic-san.”

His optimism, persistent and laced with amusement, is contagious. Hinata can’t help but react to it; his lighthearted humor, and the devious way he navigates conversation.

When she pulls her hand from his, the gash is long gone and the skin is fresh and pink, soft and delicate. She turns her eyes to the cut on his lip and reaches for it without even thinking, her mind locked in medic-mode. It’s not until her fingers touch his lips, only for a few seconds, that’s all it takes, that she notices the way he’s looking at her.

Surprised, and flushed.

She pulls her hand away immediately, taking a step back and bowing slightly in apology.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts quietly, and then nothing else seems to follow. How does she explain to him that when you’ve spent so much time working in the trauma department of a hospital, you stop looking at patients as people that might not want you near them, and only immediately seek their wounds? How does she explain that kind of phenomenon to this stranger, of whom she only knows his name? She doesn’t know how, so she says nothing.

“It’s okay,” he promises, lifting a hand to rub at the skin where the cut had been just seconds before. “I was just a little surprised.”

Hinata winces, nodding.

“It’s okay, really.” He repeats, his smile a consolation. “Are you here to train?”

The change in subject is abrupt and obvious, and it feels directly opposed to his style, but Hinata appreciates it all the more because she knows that it’s for her sake.

“I am. I was only planning to pass this place over before I start.”

“And?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head expectantly. His eyes, unable to dance in exposed sunlight the way she remembers them, seem darker in the shadows of the stormy weather. Like honey. “Do I pass?”

Instead of responding in the same joking tone he had taken, she kneels down to touch the slightest sign of a hairline fracture in the earth.

Impressed, she whispers, “It looks like it had never been destroyed in the first place.”

When she looks back up and meets his eyes, there’s the air of lazy confidence where before the softness of a shy smile had been.

“So I pass, then?”

“Sure,” she says, “you pass.”

One corner of his lips quirks even higher, stretching his smirk and transforming him into someone she’d think venerable, if not a little haughty. Hinata studies the ground beneath her feet, under her fingertips, and hypothesizes the few ways that he would have been able to mend the destruction. It’s not difficult to guess, and she comes to the only applicable conclusion rather easily.

Peering up at him through her bangs, she guesses, “Earth element?”

He kneels with her, running a hand over the seamless foundation underfoot. “You got it in one.” Then, with sudden curiosity, he glances at her and asks, “You got one?”

Hinata pauses. It’s immediate, and inadvertent, but she’s too well trained and professional to let it show in the lines of her body. She doesn’t tense, or stiffen. Her fingers only hesitate for a moment, too brief to be noticeable, and then continue sliding through the dirt as if nothing is off.

She doesn’t usually discuss this topic; not even with her friends. The only people that know besides her father and Hanabi are the members of her team, and with them there is an inherent, deep-seeded trust she will never question.

Kawabuchi Ren is an outsider, a stranger, and she knows next to nothing about him.

So, she lies.

Her body smoothes out as seamlessly as if she’d never been tense in the first place, and when she glances back at Ren he doesn’t even seem too stuck on the change. He focuses on her lips, obviously waiting for the words, a secret of sorts that he thinks he’s going to get so easily.

Instead, she purses them, and says, “I don’t think so. I haven’t really tested myself, though.”

“I kind of figured,” Ren nods, joints creaking as he stands. “The Hyuuga clan doesn’t really have a history of elemental chakra nature inherent in the bloodline.”

This time, Hinata’s body does stiffen, her eyes slanting sharp. Ren realizes his blunder almost immediately, taking a retreating step with hands raised defensively.

“I’m a scholar of sorts?” he squeaks in explanation, his laugh a nervous, pitiful thing. “I don’t know much about your clan, hence the insatiable curiosity. Not my place, though, I totally get it.”

Hinata feels flustered, both from his earlier sharp tone, so suspiciously knowledgeable even while dodging direct scrutiny, and how quickly she’d reacted against him. Taking a deep breath, she moves to stand and rolls her shoulders, easing the strain of them.

“It’s okay,” she allows, the words quiet and tucked behind the recesses of a gentle countenance. “I’m used to people being curious about my family. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

The expression on his face spells out clear repentance, but Hinata’s eyes are sharper than most. She can still see the gleam of interest in his eyes, bordering between curious and engrossed. The chill it sends down her spine is one she can’t quite explain; all she knows is that while Ren claims his avid curiosity is directed at her family, for some reason she can’t rid herself of the feeling that his attentions seem directed at _her_.

She studies the fair fall of hair over his forehead, the tips of which touch the soft skin under his bashful gaze, and the nervous way he shuffles his feet. This kind of awkwardness is clearly something he had not planned for, she thinks wryly, but should have expected with her involved.

She wonders if she should make the first move, now, with this heavy silence between them. Even the calls of the wild around them can’t distract her from his nervousness, or her inability to come up with something else to say. He looks so worried, in a way that seems to denote a desire to continue the conversation but remaining unable to come up with the material to do so.

He looks how she feels, and she wonders if maybe that’s deliberate, or if he really _does_ feel the same way that she does. Even still, she contemplates whether or not she should just excuse herself, but worries about the rudeness of the gesture after the way she’d reacted to him being curious about her family. And, if she’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t want to just leave.

There’s something about Kawabuchi Ren that irks her, certainly, but there’s much about him that makes her curious. She can see parts of herself in him—the shyness, the nerves, the inability to find the right words, or any at all. A part of her, deep down and protective of this nature she’d worked so hard and grown so well to learn how to cherish and protect, wants to be here for him.

As it turns out, he makes the first move for her.

“I, uh, haven’t seen you around here lately.”

Hinata sighs gratefully for the break in silence. “Oh, I’ve been rather busy. I don’t usually spar in this area of the grounds, either.”

Ren looks ready to say something, but swallows it down with sudden embarrassment, and thinks it over before coming back with something that’s obviously new.

“Well, Hinata-san, while I’ve got you here…wanna spar?”

His request is so unexpected, even here on her favorite training grounds, and yet her response comes easily, without hesitation.

“Okay,” she nods, slowly warming to the idea. “I think I’d like that.”

This could be good for her; to test herself against someone she’s not familiar with in the slightest. She’s so used to sparring with her friends, or her sister, or her team; every one of their patterns she has memorized.

Kawabuchi Ren is unfamiliar. He’s as good as an enemy, in terms of being a depthless unknown of abilities, and being able to blindly test her skills against him is too enticing an offer to refuse.

“Are your wounds fully healed?” she asks even as she starts her retreat, feet suddenly moving silently over the ground, not a single misstep in her movements. His eyes flick to her ankles, watch the careful, seamless way she moves, and lift with a new flare in the darkened pits of them.

He snorts, stretching his arms across his chest with a wicked grin.

“Ah, Hinata-san,” he sighs, unreservedly self-assured. “You’re going to wish these scrapes and bruises were _worse_.”

Hinata feels her own confidence twisting into something dangerous; it’s the kind of subtle chaos she’s known for, a creature as powerful and deadly as all of her friends, if not more so than some, but only ever viewed as such if looked upon with a critical eye. To anyone unpracticed or inexperienced in the art of combat, her smile may seem a normal thing, maybe even gentle.

Kawabuchi Ren traces the sharp line of it and shivers, taking several steps back without a single change in his expression.

He’s experienced, then.

Her voice, quiet as a midnight stream, is audible across the expanse they’d opened up between each other. “We’ll see about that, Kawabuchi-san.”

“No weapons,” Ren immediately states, slicing a hand through the air. Hinata’s head bobs in immediate assent, and she detaches her pack and tosses it far off to the side. “Would you prefer I not use my elemental chakra?”

“Feel free to use it.” Hinata shrugs a careless shoulder. She spars with Sakura _weekly_ ; if Ren has anything new to show her about opening the ground, she’ll be surprised. And impressed. “It’s not necessarily a weapon.”

Ren rolls his shoulders, and it’s a pointed reminder of his size, the sheer mass of him. Hinata doesn’t need to be reminded; it seems impossible to stand near him and not be anything but hyperaware of how tall he is, and how much muscle he holds in his upper body. His long legs will be dangerous, she thinks strategically, gaze sliding over him, seeking weaknesses. They land on the thinness of his waist, tapered down from wide shoulders, and leap to the column of his exposed neck.

A crack of thunder in the distance, warning of impending storms; the smell of rain somewhere not too far from them. Good thing, Hinata thinks as she falls into a defensive stance, she doesn’t mind going to the market covered in mud. Her father might be of another mind, however, should he hear about it.

“Ready?” Kawabuchi Ren calls, as confident as the devil himself. Hinata’s hands are steady, her wrists supple, her form perfect. The veins beside her eyes dilate and expand, and her Byakugan vision hones in on Ren with unerring accuracy and focus. The back of her neck tingles.

She nods, just once, a pointed gesture of permission, and Kawabuchi Ren _disappears_.

And in his stead, he leaves an avalanche the size of the Hokage monument crashing over her.

 

✧

 

There’s a bruise the size of an apple swelling over her right cheekbone, several cuts on her hands and forearms, and her waist feels as though it’s been twisted a full three hundred and sixty degrees, but she’s the one that’s still standing.

She keeps watchful eyes on Kawabuchi Ren as he tries in vain to suck air back into his lungs. The force of her push had knocked the air right out of him, even before he’d come crashing to the ground. She’s certain that his left arm is broken in one place at the very least, but it’s useless from the shoulder down, anyways. She’d made sure early on to block the chakra running there, lest he continue to land hits on her. His face remains perfectly unscathed, as handsome and striking as ever, his hair a hurricane of sand and dust atop his head. A single line of blood trails down one of his sideburns and drips off the edge of his smooth jaw.

When he’s finally able to breathe again, sucking in gasping breaths and holding a hand to his chest like he can assert some kind of force against his lungs that might encourage them to _work_ , he turns to her with newly appraising eyes.

“Shit,” he pants, but he’s smiling, and his entire expression is a picture of joy. “You’re terrifying.”

Hinata blushes from the praise, allowing her hands to gradually drop from her defensive position. She lifts one to the bruise inking across her right cheekbone and says, “You are quite commendable, too.”

Ren flops onto his back and cringes with the movement. Hinata frowns; maybe a few other breaks besides the arm, then. She has a mind to heal his wounds, but also wants a clear declaration of finality, so instead she hovers over him, conflicted. He seems to understand her unspoken dilemma, though.

“Match,” he laughs, while clutching at his ribs. “ _Totally_ match. You win. Ow.”

It’s all the assertion she requires, dropping gracelessly to her knees beside him and pressing her hands, flared brightly with healing chakra, to the break in his arm.

“This isn’t as bad as I’d thought,” Hinata mutters distractedly, seeing the wound through the energy in her hands and the power stemming from her fingertips. Ren snorts derisively.

“Not gonna lie, it _feels_ pretty bad.”

Hinata only smiles at him, amused. It doesn’t take her long to completely mend his arm, and afterwards she moves her hands to his abdomen, feeling along his ribs.

“Can you sit up?”

“Sure thing.”

“I’m going to check for breaks in your ribs,” she explains as he moves into a better position, and her hands slide along his skin, under the thin material of his shirt. He winces when her fingers slide over his side, and she gives him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “it seems I fractured a rib.”

“Not a big deal,” he fakes, flapping a hand carelessly. A moment later a thought seems to come to him, rekindling that same look of curiosity over his features. “Are you hurt anywhere? Besides the cheek, ouch.”

Hinata is just about finished mending his rib when she speaks. “My waist is a little sore.”

“Your waist is a little sore,” he repeats mindlessly, shaking his head. He flops onto his back when her hands pull away, his head conking lightly against the dirt. “It’s official. You wiped the floor with me. Was I even a challenge? Oh man, don’t even answer that. I don’t want to know the truth. You’ve hurt me enough as it is.”

In a true display of dramatics, he throws his newly healed arm over his eyes, making Hinata stutter out a surprised laugh. She can still see his smiling mouth in the shadow of his elbow.

“My forearms are bleeding, too,” she admits lightly, lifting a hand to press against her cheekbone. She feels the heat of her healing energy and is immediately soothed by the familiarity of it.

Ren groans. “Don’t try to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”

“I had fun,” she tries again, utterly sincere. Then, realizing that might sound sadistic, she quickly jumps to explain herself. “I mean, sparring was fun, not hurting you. I didn’t _enjoy_ hurting you. Um.”

Uncovering his laughing face, he stares up at her with wide, gleaming eyes. He sits up with a grunt, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I suppose I knew this’d happen, anyways.” He goes on mindlessly, bobbing his head. “You’re _you_. Not to mention that you graduated before me, and with flying colors.”

Hinata hears _you’re you,_ and wonders what that means, but feels happy to know that Ren acknowledges her strength—happier still to know that he had acknowledged it even before sparring with her. Even to this day, she still gets underestimated more often than not. Sometimes, in true combat situations, this is something that she can use to her advantage. But with people in the village, it’s usually just disconcerting.

“Kawabuchi-san,” Hinata suddenly poses, mind reeling back and sticking to his mention of graduation. “You mentioned the jounin exams when I first met you, too. Did we graduate together?”

“Afraid not,” he replies, sitting up slightly just to lean back on his arms, glancing around at the flickering canopies of the trees, his amber eyes flashing. “I don’t remember if I told you, but I _did_ test with you. Just didn’t pass, that first time through.”

Hinata suddenly does remember him telling her that, and she doesn’t want to encourage him to ruminate on a sour memory. So instead, she asks, “How long have you been a jounin?”

Surprise trickles over his features, a gentle, transformative cascade that makes him appear younger and more guileless than any other time Hinata can recall. She admires this side of him, so candid and expressive. She realizes that this is the kind of person she would enjoy being friends with, someone that she can see getting along with her other friends just as well as anyone from their graduating class.

She knows, then, that some time soon, once she gets to know him better and trusts him, she will introduce him to her friends. Sakura and Ino, first, because they’re both excellent judges of character and protective enough of Hinata to not let anyone shady near her or her loved ones.

Shino is also an excellent judge of character, and Kiba is the most protective of her out of nearly everyone she knows, but she cares deeply enough for them to protect them in turn.

She knows that if Ren passes the initial Ino-Sakura inspection, she will also introduce him to Naruto.

“Um,” Ren pauses, tracing the time in his mind. “Just a little over a year, now.”

“Mm. Are you the same age as I am?”

Something about his expression turns coy. “And how old is that, Hinata-chan?”

Blush spreads through her cheeks, then dots the shells of her ears. She isn’t even really certain _why_ she’s blushing, only that his tone had sounded one step closer to intimate, and she hadn’t been prepared for it. He shifts between confidence and self-consciousness as easily as breathing, and it unsettles her—but she recognizes it, still gets the feeling that she and Ren are more alike than she’d originally thought.

“Twenty-two.”

“I’m two years older than you,” he explains, sounding unsurprised. But with a spark of sudden clarity, he turns to her, playful and devious. “You can call me sempai, if you’d like.”

Hinata ignores him, naturally, and says, “Seems like we just missed each other, then.”

Had she been looking at his expression, rather than the invading clouds, bloated and raging just a few miles out, she might have seen the downhearted expression on his face, pulling his smiling lips into something far softer and more somber.

“Yeah,” he mutters neutrally, “Seems like it.”

Hinata, with her eyes still on those clouds, breathes a contented sigh.

“Well, I think I need to head back.” She says, lifting herself to her full height and offering him a hesitant hand as well. He shakes his head, smiling to soften the dismissal, and crosses his arms behind his head, lying splayed in the dirt.

“It’s going to rain,” she points out, knowing how redundant the comment is, since he can see the clouds himself, and even the very air around them smells of rain already. Even still, she thinks it polite to warn him all the same.

“Sure is,” he replies. “Hey, thanks for the spar today. If you ever want a rematch, you can find me here.”

Hinata gives him a stern look he doesn’t see, on account of having closed his eyes. Deciding at last that yes, even though she’s going to get drenched if she heads to the market, she’s still going to _go_ —she really needs nutritional food—she waves a hand at Ren.

“Thank you, as well. Have a nice night, Kawabuchi-san.”

“ _Sempai_ ,” he corrects her playfully, peeping a honey-amber eye open. “Ren-sempai sounds so much better.”

“Don’t stay out in the rain too long,” she retorts, turning on her heel without a single noticeable reaction to his teasing. He doesn’t actually need to see her smile to know it’s there, though, and she’s certain that he’d heard it in her voice.

Her heart feels full with newfound friendship, and surprised but so completely content at how easily it had formed. She heads towards the market with a lighter step, excited to tell her friends about meeting and making a new friend, without anyone introducing them. It’s the small things that get her excited, really. Always has been.

It rains before she steps foot in the marketplace, but even the mud on her boots and legs can’t dissuade her good mood.

 

✧

 

As it turns out, the mud on her isn’t actually a problem at all.

The fact that she had barely left her apartment for the past week, and now wandered into the market without telling anyone where she’d been or would be, is what turns out to be a problem. This, more than anything else, is what leads to Naruto returning home from his mission to search for her, only to come up empty.

This is also what ultimately leads to Naruto, near frantic with worry, finally finding her in the marketplace so late that the moon is already cresting the mountains.

Hinata’s target in the market had been items of nutritional value, but she’d gotten distracted first by a medical shop at which she’d purchased a few supplies, and then later by a clothing sale with a pair of bright orange pajamas under cover from the rain but still on display. Gravitating towards them with little regard for how this action might be interpreted by the public, that of which is dwindling but still readily present, Hinata finds herself running the smooth material through her fingertips.

The rain has soaked her through to the bone, but she doesn’t mind it. She’s never minded the rain, in fact, and takes pleasure in the calm it seems to bring, even in the midst of a storm, and especially after it. She must have memories attached to the scent of rain on the ground and in the air after a storm, because it always reminds her of her father; a steady presence one cannot see or hear, can barely even sense at all, quiet and heavy.

Hinata’s hair is heavily soaked, but it presses cool against her heated face, and she enjoys the feeling of it more than she dreads the weight of its pull. She moves into the store showcasing the orange pajamas with curiosity, feeling eyes on her the moment her interest is noted.

Two women shuffle past her, tucked away under a single umbrella. They can’t be older than Ino’s mother, one of the youngest of the Rookie mothers. Hinata can sense the effort they put into lowering their voices, but she hears them all the same.

“Orange,” the first says, her tone warm.

“Those two,” the second voice sighs, “ _Finally_.”

“Right?” the first replies, and then they’re moving down the street, out of earshot. Hinata’s cheeks heat, and she’s glad again for her wet hair and the way it plasters against her face, hiding her.

The owner of the shop watches her play with the material, senses her interest, and leaps on the opening she presents of herself, ready to sink his teeth in. He explains the discounted price and how few people wanted such bright nightwear, though he doesn’t know _why_ (“It looks spectacular! Does it not look spectacular?”), and even offers to give her an added deal if she’ll take a pair of youth socks off his hands, as well.

The older man, slightly lecherous, suggests a pair of thigh-highs he’s apparently been trying to pawn off onto someone, anyone, to no avail. Hinata isn’t averse to them, but once she spots a pair of tall socks with a repetitive shuriken print on them, she’s already sold.

She moves to the back of the shop just to see if anything catches her eye, and ends up catching the eye of a pair of young adults looking at the shop’s minute music collection, instead. She doesn’t recognize them, but she nods all the same, just to be polite. They return the gesture, but it’s clear even as she turns away from them that they know who she is. She’s only an isle away when she hears the young woman mention her name in an awed whisper, though the young man stays decidedly tightlipped.

“That’s her!” She gasps, the words a verbal exhale. “The Hyuuga heiress! That’s _her_.”

“I know.” Comes the second voice, his inflection indecipherable. Hinata can’t help but stall, turning to look idly at some playful, unfinished scrolls made for kids learning calligraphy.

“She’s so cool. Did you know she’s only two years older than us? And already a jounin? Nevermind that, she became a jounin at _eighteen_. Imagine taking the jounin exam right now, Yuki. No, imagine _signing up_ for the jounin exam. That’s scary enough as it is.”

“She can probably hear you, Kasu,” he whispers, matter-of-fact. Hinata’s face heats up; she keeps her eyes on the children’s scroll she’d picked up to examine. It does not occur to her that anyone passing by might very easily mistake her distracted interest in a child’s scroll as a sign of something personal in her life, but luckily for her, no one besides the young friends an isle or so away are near her.

“Whatever.” The young woman sniffs, moving gradually down the isle. “She’s wicked awesome. Word on the street is that the Big Sun himself is interested in her. Can you even _imagine_? I have to shield my eyes just seeing him, but them together? Do they sell sunglasses here?”

“Kasumi.”

“I’m serious!”

“Are you going to start listing off what makes him awesome, too? I don’t have all night.”

Hinata hears the girl snort, loudly. “Like I’d be able to end that list in a _night_. Good one, Yuki.”

Hinata decides that this is as good a time as any to stop her snooping and sneak away. She returns to the front of the store, where the orange pajamas she’d promised the shop owner she’d purchase are still on display. She can see him hovering, waiting for the word to fold them up and put them in her hands, gone for good. She lingers around the stand, eyeing the short-sleeve top and the glaring match of its pants, in the same exact shade.

 _Citrus orange_ , she thinks, and then immediately feels like the biggest love struck fool in the world. Not necessarily a bad thing, but her temperature rises. The rain pelts against her feet, coming inside the shop, and reminding her not only of the worsening weather conditions, but of the time, too.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the young pair exiting the shop, pretending as though they hadn’t even noticed her in the first place. She almost wants to smile at them, some inexplicably fond feeling rising up for the two of them and their kind yet vague words, but they’d clearly tried too hard to remain unnoticed for her to soil it so easily.

Once they step out of the shop and into the rain, the man snaps an umbrella open against his leg, and the girl tugs insistently at his sleeve. Hinata can see the woman pointing in her direction, albeit discreetly, and feels the back of her neck heat in the same way it always does when she knows she’s being watched.

“Did you see that? _Orange_. Those pajamas are _orange_.”

“Your observational skills,” the man monotones, tone full of sarcasm. “They’re incredible.”

The sound of a light smack resounds, and the woman continues badgering him with persistence, not cowed in the slightest.

“Didn’t I tell you? Did I _not_ tell you, Yuki?”

“You told me.”

“And I was _right_! Look at her! _Orange_ pajamas. They’re so damn cute.”

“ _Hush_ ,” his deeper voice scolds, just this side of embarrassed. “Let’s go.”

“You’re just mad she’s spoken for,” she chirps humorously. “Or maybe you’re mad that _he’s_ spoken for,” she teases, before pausing at her companion’s silence. “Oh man, _really_? Which of them is it? Or… _no_. Both?”

“Let’s _go_ ,” he demands, plain and simple, and then they’re gone. Or at the very least, out of Hinata’s earshot. Her face is hot enough that she’s surprised the raindrops that hit it don’t fizzle into steam. She waves the shop owner over and purchases the pajamas and the one pair of socks, smiling when the man thanks her graciously, promising her good business due her next return.

Hinata’s mind is a hurricane of mixed feelings trickling throughout her whole body, every system feeling confused but lighter, definitely lighter. She thinks about that girl, Kasumi, and how she’d seen right through Hinata’s interest in a simple pair of pajamas. She had been silly to think that the color of them, so distinct on their own, and so distinctly _Naruto’s_ signature, would hint at anything but a relationship between the two of them.

But is that okay? She’s still uncertain. It’s easy to understand her own feelings; she’s never had any problems with that. Understanding the new bond between she and Naruto is a whole different issue, one where she has no solid footing and can’t seem to know anything more concretely than that they’re _friends_. Good friends.

Great friends.

It’s clearer than ever that she needs to use her words. Even if it’s difficult to get them out properly, or even at all, she and Naruto both deserve clarification.

Hinata comes out of the store with a new bag tucked over her elbow, the bright orange pajamas and the shuriken socks tucked away inside. She mostly ignores the rain, only glancing up into the darkening sky when curls of thunder pass overhead. She’s yet to see a lightning strike, but the area above the west lights up a few times, bright and indiscriminate.

She makes quick work of getting the proper, essential groceries now that the shops are soon to close. She doesn’t dwindle, or dither, knowing that the shop owners still have to make their ways home after work, through the storm, and she doesn’t want to impede them in any way. She exits the last shop of the night with a new bag on her arm, this one filled with non-perishables and a humble crate of tangerines, because of course she had to purchase them. They’re in season!

According to one of Hinata’s heavily supported assumptions, they also just so happen to be Naruto’s favorites.

She tucks them closer to her body and turns in the direction of her place, the citrus fruits in her bag inciting thoughts of when Naruto will be returning in her mind.

She moves around a large group of people traveling down the street in the opposite direction. She’s surprised by the amount of people still browsing shops and roaming the streets, even in this steady stream of rain. She supposes that there are a lot of other people in the village that enjoy the rain as much as she does, or at the very least, don’t mind going on with their typical routines while within it. There’s so many people that she has to squeeze her way through along the street, umbrellas passing over her head almost as consistently as the rain. After ducking under the spokes of one careening her way, she glances up into the rain and beyond it, to the densely packed gray clouds slowly rolling in.

It is in this moment that Naruto seems to fall from the sky, a flaming comet crashing down before her, startling her so much she almost takes him out at the knees with a single, viciously aimed swipe of her leg. Her heart thunders louder than the raging sky, her lips parted around a gasp.

“Naruto-kun!”

Having apparently been running across the rooftops, his descent comes with a lot of momentum and ends with him skidding to a halt in front of her. He straightens in the next instant with fire in his eyes, nearly frantic.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” he breathes, winded. His eyes drop to the bags on her arms and she knows the instant he sees the medical supplies, because the worry on his face doubles. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course, I was just shopping,” she jostles the bags, discreetly hiding the bag with the pajamas and scooting the medical supplies to the front, where they’re more easily seen. “Why?”

Naruto runs a shaky hand through his hair, rain-soaked and dripping, and she sees that his skin is flushed, undoubtedly from running around in the cold.

“Shit,” he whispers under his breath, shaking his head. He meets her eyes again and only just seems to realize that they’re standing in the middle of a densely packed street, getting soaked by rain, and are being openly watched by curious onlookers. The latter only serves to make Hinata’s heart race even quicker, her chest constricting around the rapid pace of it. Naruto reaches out and gently catches her elbow, steering her towards an overhang to get them out of the direct onslaught of the storm.

Hinata sees her first actual lightning bolt of the night, but it only serves to illuminate the anxiety fractured across Naruto’s features.

“I was worried,” he admits breathlessly, taking his hand back from her elbow to drag it slowly over his jaw. “I got back from my mission earlier today. I stumbled across Shino at the front gate—did you know he has a garden near there? Strange guy. He told me you were home, though, not on a mission. Didn’t know where you were, either. I looked for you.”

His last remark is a confession of sorts, spoken low but true, with his head slightly bowed, bringing him closer to her.

“I had clones looking everywhere, too, but none of us could find you.”

“Naruto-kun,” Hinata whispers, shaken at the extent to which he’d gone just to find her, to make sure she was safe. Even as her heart aches to soothe him, to press her fingertips to the worried lines between his brows, to smooth them out, she wonders what has him so on edge. With the dire circumstances of his missions, each becoming more complex and longer in duration than the last, she’s nearly certain that whatever—or whoever—he’s been encountering out there, they’re dangerous.

Dangerous enough to make even Naruto worry.

If it had been anyone other than Naruto, and had she not expected such circumstances to be plaguing his every venture out of the village, the thought that maybe he’d been overreacting might have applied. But this _is_ Naruto, and his concern has both a sensible foundation and an underlying, heartbreaking reality to it.

Hinata puts herself in his position, remembers that as a child he had grown up with parents that had left him, for noble reasons or otherwise; remembers that for nearly as long as he can recall, he had only ever had himself; and then a sensei, and then later, when he finally made friends, a best friend, and a _team_ —and his best friend left him behind. After Sasuke’s betrayal, Kakashi had separated himself from his team for whatever reasons, and Naruto had been left on his own again, though luckily Jiraiya had been there to swiftly pick him up and set him back on his feet.

The point being, Naruto is intimately familiar with being left behind.

Hinata had never, ever wanted to be lumped into the same category of those who had _left,_ even if mistakenly. She moves without hesitation, dropping her bags to the ground beside her feet and stepping forward until her arms wrap tightly around his waist, and grip the material of his sodden jacket. His surprise is evident, but his response is immediate; he wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her in close, pressing his nose to her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers against his chest, knowing that he can hear her over the rain and the thunder, knowing that he can feel the rapidly racing beat of her heart in her throat. “I’m here. Welcome home.”

His voice is less than a breath or a breeze when he responds to her.

“Hey, in the future,” he starts, quiet and questioning. “If you’re gone on mission or something, would you tell me?”

Hinata’s answer is as sincere as it is immediate: “Yes. Of course.”

After that, he relaxes into her gradually, as if different parts of him are systematically defrosting, until most of his weight is hanging over her. He squeezes her so tightly it’s a strain on her still-injured waist, but it’s a minute bother compared to the comfort he’s so clearly taking in her embrace. She doesn’t even care, for the moment, of the people assuredly watching them, or that they’re out in the open practically welcoming gossip.

She just holds him close until their shared warmth seeps into his skin, and he regains his confidence through the solid, concrete proof of her still being here, all his, in his arms. Here, he can know with certainty that she has stayed.

It must mean something monumental to him, this simple fact.

She had stayed.

She has nowhere else to go, but even if she did, she would never leave Naruto behind. Not ever. Not once.

Naruto unfurls from her comfort and stands tall once again, shoulders thrust back confidently, eyes shining with relief. His smile no longer looks a fragile question on his face, but sits high and steady, showing teeth—until his hands slide off of her waist and something passes over his features.

“Are you injured?” he asks, and his eyes jump from the bags on the ground immediately to her waist, as if he can see the bruises that are certainly forming.

“Oh,” Hinata pauses, lifting a hand to her waist. “I sparred with a friend earlier. I’m not really injured, just sore.”

“Ah, that’s a relief,” Naruto sighs, trusting her word without a second thought. He bends down and picks up her bags, batting away her protest until she manages to get one bag in particular from him—she stows it away under her arm, making sure its brightly hued contents are hidden.

“The medical supplies aren’t specific,” she adds, watching his expression. “They’re for the future.”

“Got it,” he nods. When he doesn’t say much else, she allows herself to search him for injuries of his own, and even when she doesn’t find any noticeable signs, she still asks, “Are _you_ injured, Naruto-kun?”

He puffs his chest out, jabbing a thumb into his sternum. “Not a scratch on me! Dattebayo!”

Hinata shakes her head at his silliness, expression lightening as he peeks curiously into the grocery bag. It’s really too dark to see anything so he quickly gives up on it, nodding his head in the direction of his place, accustomed to going there by default since they can’t be alone together in the compound, with other eyes watching.

“Uh,” she stammers, not knowing how to present her surprise now that the time to do so has plopped right into her lap. “A-actually, I have a surprise, Naruto-kun.”

“A surprise?” he questions, one brow hitching up higher than the other. “Like a present?”

“Not exactly,” she mutters, pursing her lips. Instead of trying to explain, she reaches out and slides her fingers through his, the familiar feel of his calluses rubbing against hers soothing some of her tension. His hand tightens around hers instantly, without question, and he follows her lead with a probing, eager expression.

They head off through the crowds, ignoring the pointed looks and, to Hinata’s eternal embarrassment, the few catcalls that follow after them. Naruto doesn’t even seem to hear them; still puzzling over the surprise she’d baited him with.

The rain becomes a wrathful force by the time they turn the corner to her street, and she brings them to a jogging pace when her humble little place comes into view. They stop together in front of the steps, and she turns to face him with a shy smile. The thunder nearly drowns her words out, makes them next to impossible to hear; it doesn’t help, either, that she says them so quietly, but she’s suddenly nervous with Naruto in front of her, in front of her new _home_.

“Surprise,” she whispers under the roar of rainfall. “This is my new place.”

Naruto stares up at the front door, agape. Realization washes over his face in waves, before his smile, brighter than the flashes in the darkened sky, lights up every corner of his face. He turns to her and points from the door and back to her, his mind slowly following through.

“Your new place?” he repeats, and then with more excitement: “You have a new place! That’s awesome, Hinata!”

He’s got her hand tucked back into his and leaps the both of them up the stairs, excitement all but palpable. Her hands shake with the key in them, but once she has the door open and mumbles a low, “please come in,” her nerves all but melt away.

Naruto moves into the space that has solely been hers for the past few months and suddenly, everything is right again. Her nerves dissipate, and warmth settles around her heart and in her stomach. She glances around with him, noting the plants and flowers in various places, the boxes lining the walls, the newly purchased and positioned furniture. Her bedroom is about the only place close to fully furnished, and is out of sight from the front door, but even still, the place looks nice.

She watches Naruto marvel over the size and structure of it, knowing that it’s a fraction larger than his place, and far newer in model. His mouth hangs wide open and his eyes are still lightning-bright, dancing over the walls and the shelves, noting the sparse pictures of family and friends that she’d put up before anything else.

“Wow,” he gawks, whistling. “ _Nice_.”

“Thank you,” she replies brightly, beaming around at all of her belongings. “I really like it here.”

“Don’t see why you wouldn’t,” he agrees, head bobbing thoughtfully. His eyes catch and hold on the boxes lining the wall, and his lips quirk.

“Have you been unpacking by yourself?”

“Oh, no,” she waves her hand, dismissing that notion immediately. “Sakura-san and Ino-san were a huge help. Shino and Kiba, too. Even Lee-san assisted me.”

“Good,” he says, distracted by the one box that’s been opened. “Do you want more help?”

Hinata has never seen anyone look so excited to unload boxes before. She nods her head, shy but delighted, before saying, “We don’t have to do that tonight. You can help me tomorrow, if you’d like. You’re probably tired from your mission.”

She doesn’t mention the fact that he’d been running around the whole village, too. She keeps that locked away in the warmth of her pounding heart, holding tight to the implications of it. She watches him shake his head and kneel beside the box, fingers already reaching for whatever it is she has stowed away in there.

She wonders idly if he realizes what this whole thing means, with him involved. The move had been for her, first and foremost, and her independence. But he had been a significant factor in the equation; his newly frequent and hopefully lasting presence in her life encouraged her to move some pieces around and make this move happen. Whether he is aware of it or not, this change of location, this newfound home—part of it is because of him.

It embarrasses her to think it, to acknowledge that she wanted a place of her own badly enough for the simple possibility of getting to spend more time alone with Naruto, in a comfortable and intimate place. But it is a comforting thought nonetheless, that now they don’t always have to go to his place, though she certainly enjoys it, and she knows that he does too—the joy of getting to bring her into a tiny piece of his world where he can be even more freely himself, in ways that no one else knows about. It’s a matter of particular pride with him.

She wants desperately to be able to offer the same.

She had invited Naruto within the inner walls of the Hyuuga compound a handful of times, and each time they had been interrupted by someone new. Each interruption had been deliberate, and lengthy, and distracting—mostly people asking Naruto questions and conversing with him long enough that by the time he had to go, she’d barely spoken to him at all. So it became normal, a routine, to just go to his place to spend time together.

There are no distractions there, other than each other.

She hopes for that here, too.

“I’m not tired,” he says in answer to her earlier supposition. He’s not lying, either; she knows firsthand how quickly the kyuubi’s chakra regenerates him. “And besides, this could be fun!”

“Maybe,” she huffs, grinning. “What’s in that box?”

“...Undies,” Naruto says casually, not even turning to look at her. Hinata leaps at the box with some gently added force and snaps one of the panels closed on top, hiding the contents inside. Her face is a heated, scarlet wasteland, and Naruto bursts out laughing when he sees it. From her crouched defensive stance—which, in true dramatics, just so happens to be a single step away from a combat stance—her face is close enough for Naruto to barely have to strain when he leans forward and presses a kiss to the tip of her nose.

“Kidding,” he sings, jittery with laughter. “I wish it was the undies box.”

“ _Naruto-kun_.”

“Hinata,” he croons, breaking her name into three distinct syllables, all of which trip over his teeming laughter. “What kind do you wear, huh?”

Hinata activates her Byakugan and searches each of the boxes with deliberate precision, before moving to the second to last one and heaving it up and onto her hip. She turns for her bedroom and only pauses at the hallway, turning back to Naruto’s howling laughter, which quickly turns into a petulant pout when he sees her expression.

“You’re outrageous,” she tells him seriously, squinting. And then, in a rare burst of absolute confidence, she says, “As if I’d let you see them in a box.”

She stays behind for a beat, watching the dawning realization of what she’d implied wash over Naruto’s features like a bucket of ice water. He sits straight up, eyes practically shooting sparks, smile wide enough to make those adorable crow’s feet appear beside his eyes.

“As if you’d let me see them,” he repeats in a squeak, voice hitching. “ _In a box_.”

She moves down the hallway before he can get another word out, heading for her room with a smirk as she deactivates her Byakugan, but she still hears him yowl behind her.

“Shit, does that mean you’ll let me see them _on_?”

She laughs in the open space of her room, flicking the light on with a finger and unloading the box on her bed. She’s just managed to grab a handful of said undergarments when the telltale whine of a floorboard behind her, in her _doorway_ , announces Naruto’s presence. She flits around, trying to hide her pile with her body and her hands. Naruto, smirking deviously, continues to try to catch sight of something, anything he possibly can.

“Naruto-kun! What in the _world_ do you think you’re doing in here?”

“Oh come on, Hinata! You can’t tease me like that and just expect me not to follow through!”

Hinata purses her lips, if only to hide her laughter. She moves forward in a steady leap and pushes him gently back into the hallway, ignoring his struggle and the craning of his neck when they turn away from the doorway. She continues to herd him down the length of the hallway, hands appearing tiny in comparison to the width of his chest. They’re just past halfway when he flits away from her touch.

She thinks he’s going to make a run for her room, but before she can even move a foot in that direction, his arm slides heavily around her shoulders. He leans over her, keeping her tucked close to him, and leads them both back towards the living room, their heads pressed together.

“So,” he says finally, after all of his squirming. “When do I get to see them? I can be patient.”

Hinata snorts, cheeks and nape and ears all burning. He glances down at her; big, bright blue eyes close enough for her to lose herself in.

“I can!” He promises, only releasing her once they’re back in the living room, facing boxes he probably finds exponentially more boring, now that her underwear has been removed from the operation. She watches him glance around the place again, still getting used to it, before he surprises her again.

“Hey, this place is great and all, but isn’t it a little small?” When he glances over and sees her face, he mistakes her expression of discomfiture for one of offense. “I don’t mean it in a bad way! Isn’t your family well-off?”

“We are,” she hesitates, quick to reassure him that she isn’t offended. “But this is all I need. It’s enough.”

“Oh,” he responds, eyes watchful. He studies her again, gaze thoughtful and considering. She squirms under it.

He nods, saying, “I get that.”

And she _knows_ that he gets it, because this is one of the same reasons that he lives in such a small place, even with the wealth of the world at his fingertips. So maybe she had followed his lead; she just wonders, now, if he understands _that much_ explicitly.

If he does or if he doesn’t, either way, he glances at her in a way that makes her feel special, and it’s all worth it for that single look.

“Should we?” he asks, gesturing to the boxes. Then, with a teasing smile, he adds, “Maybe we’ll find something fun that those eyes of yours missed.”

“Don’t count on it,” she responds complacently, and by the certainty of her expression, he visibly deflates. She catches him giving the hallway a longing expression, and immediately says, “Don’t even think about it.”

“Stingy, stingy,” Naruto mumbles, but he’s smiling, and his is the first hand to reach for the already opened box.

They move rather slowly through the first box of her belongings, mostly because Naruto gets distracted by just about every item inside of it. The scrolls, the weapons passed down through generations of Hyuuga, the miscellaneous products for her skin and hair, the silk ribbon Hinata uses to tie her hair up during summertime—each of them hold their own kind of splendor in Naruto’s eyes. He holds the silk ribbon as carefully as he holds the scrolls, and eyes a canister of skin cream critically, untrusting of its contents when she tells him how it works.

Eventually, however, they move through several of the boxes before one of them, Hinata still can’t remember which, mentions getting a snack. The heavy, muggy weather of the thunderstorm as well as the moving around had caused both of them to get too hot for their jackets, even with the downpour outside. They’d carelessly tossed them over the back of her small couch, and now wander in just their t-shirts and pants over to her tiny kitchen. It’s only a smidgen larger than Naruto’s, and as she’d learned so long ago the first time she’d cooked for him, Naruto has no sense of personal space.

Either that, or he just doesn’t care.

Not that she doesn’t enjoy it, though it does make for a slower cooking process and double the playful scolding. For his part, Naruto almost seems to _enjoy_ the way she playfully chides him. Even though she catches onto this fact rather quickly, it does nothing to deter her. If anything, it’s encouraging.

They move together through her kitchen and his hand almost always finds the slight dip of her lower back, lingering or trailing over her skin. At times, he simply rests it there; the warmth of his palm equal parts comforting and nerve-wracking. She lets him slide his hand over her back, guiding and leading her, and if she’s being completely honest, she loves every moment of it.

At first, she hadn’t thought he was even aware of it—but then she’d caught a glimpse of his face, playfully delighted, thinking he was getting away with something.

He gets away with it, but not without her awareness.

Time passes smoothly as they try to make something edible, though Naruto seems to be trying with enthusiasm to spoil that possibility, and before Hinata knows it the moon peeks through a weakness in the cloud cover, telling of how late it is. It’s a reminder of her new freedoms, now that she has her own place.

It means that she and Naruto do not have to part, just because it’s late. Not if the both of them don’t want to, and she most certainly does not want to.

There’s a fine line between teasing and promising, and she doesn’t want to mistake it. She wants Naruto to stay over, more than anything else in this moment, but she doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea, either.

She is not quite ready for anything more than kissing, or handholding, or _teasing_ about seeing her in her underwear.

She glances at Naruto from the corner of her eye, watching him carefully as he eats and makes a complete mess. It’s almost charming, the way he seems to get more food on the table than in his mouth. For a flicker of a second, she thinks something along the lines of teaching, and manners, and guidance.

The thought shoots straight through to her heart, making it clench, and she’s reminded again that even in this, something as simple as table etiquette, Naruto had always been alone. He’d never had parents, or guardians, or caretakers to teach him how to eat slowly, and carefully. He’s just a guy, solitary and never having anyone around to please in his formative years, other than Iruka-sensei, but he’d been busy, too. Eating like this is natural to Naruto.

Iruka-sensei raised him well, though; with what time he had to offer. Naruto’s manners are quick to learn and quick to please; his issue comes in realizing when he’s doing something impolite. Once he becomes aware of it, however, he moves quickly to improve it, and turns it into something respectable. Iruka-sensei’s influence in his life is nearly tangible.

And Hinata doesn’t mind it, much. He’s quickly gotten into the habit of cleaning up after himself, which is already a huge leap. This is only one more thing, easy and simple, that he can learn to do in time. She doesn’t even feel the need to mention it, because he learns well enough from watching her sometimes. His manners in conversation have already been influenced by her, without her even noticing—Sakura had been the one to point it out to her.

Hinata does not want Naruto to change.

But growth is a kind of change that the both of them need to do together, and she plans on fostering it carefully, and diligently. There have been so many parts of him that she has picked up, too. As equal a balance as they can manage, she thinks admiringly, is the goal.

After they’ve both finished their meals and had a miniature soap fight in her sink, getting the floor all wet and their clothes smelling like peaches, she turns to him with bubbles in her eyelashes and says, “Just so you know, you’re more than welcome to stay tonight.”

Naruto is in the process of wiping his own face with his arm, and pauses enough to peek around at her, brows raised. She can feel the heat in her cheeks, but its tempered with her confidence in herself, regardless of his answer. He blinks, wiping his face a few final times.

He moves towards her just afterwards, laughing under his breath as he lifts the hem of his shirt and dabs lightly at the bubbles near her eye. Hinata squeezes them closed, trusting him not to poke her actual eye, and lets him clean the rest of her face with his shirt. He lets the hem drop and slides his fingers through the long curtain of her hair, where bubbles had been just before.

His hand is still in her hair, just by her temple, when he says, “I’ve got sparring super early tomorrow with Sakura-chan. I should probably get going.”

Hinata’s warm expression doesn’t change, even as she nods and moves with him to the front door. It isn’t until he’s in the doorway, sandals on and rain coming down hard against the back of him that she remembers his jacket, her lips parting around the reminder.

“Hinata,” he says, before her words can amass to something substantial, his own almost too quiet for her to hear over the storm raging overhead. He turns back to her with an expression that shocks her in its openness; it’s both sincere and profound, something like fondness but which runs far deeper, delving into the unfathomable depths of one’s own soul.

“I’ll remember that,” he echoes her words from so many months earlier, when he’d offered his place and his company to her for the night. “For next time.”

His step towards her is silent and slow, his fingers carding into her hair, lips descending to press into hers with feeling. His tongue traces the peak of her upper lip, his teeth biting gently against the softness of it, and then he’s backing away, a blurred, glowing silhouette flowing against the darkness of the storm.

Later, when she’s cleaned the dishes in the sink and moved idly back through her place, she finds Naruto’s forgotten jacket and brings the material up to her cheek, nestling against it with a single heavy blink of her eyes. Considering the storm and the still-pouring rain outside, it seems almost purposeful that he’d left his jacket behind.

Almost as though he’d wanted to.

Hinata slips her arms through the sleeves and lets the subtle weight of it hang over her shoulders. She flicks the light off in her living room and settles into her bed, surrounded by the contained warmth of Naruto’s jacket, and the heady scent of citrus that clings to it.


	5. Chapter 5

Hinata’s apartment grows in many ways, from that point on.

First and foremost, she finally decides on what colors to paint the place. She rubs her wrist over her jaw, ignoring the paint trail that’s left behind, and dips her brush back into the bucket. After searching through countless colors of every shade and hue, she had ultimately decided on a light cream to replace the long stretches of white. Not a drastic change, but one she appreciates nonetheless.

She had other plans for her bathroom and kitchen. For the former, she’d found the perfect shade of blue, light and bright as an ocean breeze. Still not the most radical of changes, but it illuminates the entire back wing of the place when the sun hits it, and it just so happens to be situated in a way that the sun is an almost constant visitor.

She had felt that the kitchen, however, had necessitated the work of a daring hand.

She watches, transfixed, as the deep scarlet paint runs over the russet bristles of her paintbrush, only to drip languidly over the pallid base coat. The starkest of differences; a choice dark enough to make anyone not entirely set on the deep red wary to choose it. But Hinata has no more hesitations, no qualms about the shade, even after seeing Kiba’s pinched expression and hearing Ino blithely give voice to the similarities between her kitchen’s red and its likeness to blood.

Her eyes trace the splotchy lines of it, not a single paint drop anywhere that her steady hand had not added it; Kiba’s and Ino’s first thoughts had been blood, and Hinata thinks maybe she understands.

When Hinata looks at it, stark and bright, she sees life.

There’s an optimistic connection there, one that makes her smile to herself as her eyes follow the graceful flow of her wrist as she guides the brush across the wall, making sure to keep the coating as even as possible. Her friends had offered to help her, but this still feels like breaking in the place, and that’s something she wants to herself. She’d even turned Naruto’s offer of aid away, as politely as she could, though she needn’t have explained herself.

Naruto had understood, after all.

The last time he’d been over, there had still been leaves on the trees outside, and they had been every shade of warmth. Now, every branch and tree limb and trunk are as bare as skeletons; the night sky clearer with no clouds and a near constant wind; the very ground beneath their feet more solid with chill.

The weather changes as gradually and beautifully as her apartment has, with the first of the season’s snowflakes having just recently fallen. Hinata takes note of the changes within her new home with fondness and a sense of pride she can’t conceal even if she tries. Small fixtures are scattered around her place, all of them gifts from friends and acquaintances; a blanket in every shade of the forest cast over the back of her couch, one that Gai-sensei had knitted for her after hearing that she enjoyed the craft (and saying he could not wait for the next holiday to give it to her, for his excitement had been too great to withhold!); silverware and dishes; photos in new frames.

And a single, elegantly crafted kunai that had arrived to her via messenger—one with finely crafted words edged around the handle, curving around the Hyuuga crest, carved in her father’s hand. Her eyes trace over the words once, then again with less clarity, as tears blur her vision.

_The greatest power that a person possesses is the power to choose._

She hadn’t expected—never thought to expect—this kind of kindness from her father; not when he had always been so averse to her abdicating her position as heiress, and then later, moving out on her own. He had never expressed any sort of acceptance, and after many months of strengthening her own approval of her choices separate from the clan, she had never expected to also receive _his_.

But this single gift, the familiar weight of it sitting comfortable in her hands, and the unfamiliar but touching sentiment of her father’s pride carved into it’s base, reinforces Hinata’s choices.

It is a notable change in her apartment, this kunai, and she favors it unabashedly.

The next most notable change, however, is the ceramic bowl in the center of her kitchen table, with oranges and tangerines flowing over and onto the tabletop. She can’t help but keep it full, not when she knows how much Naruto loves them and how quickly he works his way through them.

She tries not to worry over his absence, especially when she knows how busy he always is, but her mind wanders back to him frequently.

Even after having just returned from a weeklong mission herself, she has already spent some time at the Academy helping Shino out with some errant class work—though mostly her presence acts as a deterrent for the kids, who enjoy the marvel of her status as a Hyuuga Jounin, her all-seeing eyes, and her long fall of hair. They are filled with endless questions and inquiries, which Hinata finds charming if at times overwhelming. She doesn’t have all the answers, certainly, but the more time she spends with them, the more she realizes that she doesn’t need to.

Mostly, she lets them play games with her Byakugan—like asking her what they’re holding or what they’ve drawn from several rooms away, then calling excitedly down the hall when she gets the answer right every time. Shino works silently but contently behind her, poised at his desk, paperwork underhand.

If the children aren’t engaging her in games, or peppering her with questions, they’re playing with her hair. She finds herself wondering if they’ve never seen anyone with long hair before, and how odd a possibility that seems—oh, how they’d react to seeing _Ino’s_ hair!

However, she discovers differently when she sits down with Iruka-sensei one afternoon for lunch. He still follows his passion of teaching, and works ever hard to inspire and encourage the growth and care of the Will of Fire in the youth of Konoha. As it happens, he also still advises his past students. He seems utterly unaffected by the fact that some of these students, Hinata included, are now of a higher rank and a more prominent standing in the village than he is. She likes that about him.

“They’re wonderful,” she tells him, posture straight with shoulders thrown back, glancing over at a class of students heading to the training grounds outside. They chatter excitedly, pushing and pulling in a constant mass of thriving movement. He follows her glance and shakes his head, an honest permutation of proud and amused.

“They are,” Iruka agrees, expression bright. He opens his mouth to add something else, but at that moment there’s the scrape of a chair at their table, turned around and perched close to Iruka, and then Hinata is staring into the masked face of their Hokage.

“They’re also terrifying,” Kakashi adds nonchalantly, beaming at her. “And awful.”

Iruka smacks him in the arm, either forgetting Kakashi’s position or just not caring about the potential repercussions. Hinata smiles at the two of them from behind her cup as she takes a subtle drink, the sweet honey of her tea warming her.

“Hokage-sama,” she greets, setting her cup down easily. One moment he’s grinning at Iruka, his exposed eye creasing, and the next he’s casting a weary look in her direction.

“Hinata-chan,” he says, a paragon of patience. “I told you, call me _Hatake-san_. Or, even better, Kakashi-sensei.”

“Kakashi-sensei,” Iruka sings, voice saccharine sweet. “She’s just being polite. Don’t scold her.”

“See?” Kakashi says, flicking a thumb in Iruka’s direction. “He calls me Kakashi-sensei.”

“Only when you’re being a pain in the butt.” Iruka grumbles. “Which is almost always.”

Kakashi beams at him, as though this had been a compliment.

“Hatake-san,” Hinata corrects herself, sharing a telling look with Iruka. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Isn’t it?” he snorts, running a hand through his wild hair. “I mean, not that you’re seeing me. Neither are you, Iruka-sensei. Not actually. I am technically not here, after all.”

Hinata watches Iruka’s right eye twitch. “They don’t know you’re not in the tower? You didn’t tell anyone you were leaving?”

“I told the agent I just sent on a mission. Does that count? Though, I highly doubt they’ll be of any help, considering their mission is somewhere across the country. Probably.”

“So, let me see if I’ve got this right.” Iruka puts his sandwich down, straightening up to tick his fingers off. Kakashi settles in like he’s familiar with this reaction, and more, that he’d aimed for it. “You left your office, you left the tower, you didn’t tell anyone but a single agent—”

“An underground agent, yes.”

Hinata recognizes that look on Iruka’s face from her own academy days—it usually preceded some kind of grueling punishment. Naruto was often involved.

“A single _underground agent_ , then, and now you’re here when I’m fairly certain you are supposed to be meeting with the council.”

Kakashi perches his chin on his fist, practically glowing.

“You got it all in one, sensei.”

Iruka doesn’t even turn in Kakashi’s direction, which might have been for the best. Iruka may have only been a Chuunin, but the irritation pulsing in the veins of his forehead make Hinata think Kakashi might be in danger regardless, even if he is one of the strongest known shinobi alive.

Instead of committing treason by thrashing the village leader, Iruka looks to Hinata and turns Kakashi’s piss-poor behavior into a lesson to be learned.

“Hinata, promise me you will never be so carefree about your duties. I’m going to go bald if I hear of any of my students taking after their Hokage in this regard.”

“Oh, please,” Kakashi straightens, flapping a hand in the air. “She’s a good girl. Even if I tried to rub off on her, I doubt it’d take, ne, Hinata-chan?”

Holding in laughter, she nods her head, eyes gleaming with humor.

“She is,” Iruka agrees, his small smile filled with pride. “You know, Hinata, you could definitely be a great teacher. The kids adore you.”

“Ah,” she stutters, surprised at the change in topic. Kakashi studies her, considerate and contemplative. “I’m too shy, I think. But I enjoy spending time with them.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Kakashi groans, pretending to gag. The gesture reads as a very _Sakura_ thing to do. He throws a hand sloppily over Iruka’s shoulders, glancing around the room and into the hallway, where a couple of kids are picking their noses and showing each other the results. He looks decidedly less enthused than he had before, which is impressive, considering.

Iruka grins, uncaring of the arm slung over his shoulders and how it makes some other teachers in the lunchroom glance in his direction. “You’re definitely one of their favorite visitors.”

“I’m sure there are many others, as well,” she says, glancing fondly at a nearby group of students folding paper airplanes. “And all of them better suited to the task.”

“There are,” Iruka agrees politely, nodding. “But not everyone gets to have their hair played with.”

Hinata blushes, glancing up through her eyelashes to see Iruka’s smug expression, and the surprised tilt to Kakashi’s exposed eyebrow.

Iruka chuckles at her bashful reaction and crosses his arms over his chest.

“You’re not the only person with long hair here, you know. But yours is the only hair they ever want to play with.”

“Silly,” she whispers, laughing. “Maybe it’s the color?”

“I think it’s just you.” Iruka says confidently, emphasizing his point with a nod over her shoulder. Kakashi looks there too, suddenly expressionless. When Hinata looks over her shoulder, she finds a trio of students waiting by her shoulder, startled by her sudden attention.

“Princess,” one of them chirps, biting on his lip. “Can we practice braids today?”

“Please?” the second chirps, as the third nods fervently, fists clenched against her chest in a way that Hinata can distinctly remember having done when she was younger.

She nods immediately, unable to deny them this one tiny, simple thing.

“Yes,” she tells them. “Of course.”

The first boy steps a little closer, and reaches out to touch her hair with a gentleness that never fails to charm her. He strokes the strands of it, smiling as it runs through his fingers, and soon enough all three of them are in her hair. She refuses to look back at Iruka and Kakashi, knowing that there will be a combination of smug amusement and fondness there, enough to make her entire face blush.

Instead, she turns a bit more and lets some of her hair fall over her shoulder, running her own fingers through the lengths of it. She shows them a braid, slowly and carefully, before running her fingers through it to straighten her hair out again.

“Remember the process,” she tells them, voice quiet but stern. “I’ll come back to Shino-sensei’s room in a few minutes, then you can practice. Wait there for me?”

“Yes!” all three of them chirp at once, before skittering immediately in the direction of Shino’s room. Taking a deep breath, she turns back to her company and purses her lips, trying to hide her smile. Iruka beams openly at her, and Kakashi grins like he’s stumbled over a secret and he’s dying to tell it.

Before either of them can even say a word about the matter, some messengers from the Hokage tower finally catch up to Kakashi’s trail and practically drag him back to the tower, but not before he can pester Iruka enough to get a kiss on the cheek for all of his troubles. After calling out a disgruntled goodbye to her and Iruka both, he’s carted off and away. Iruka walks with her to Shino’s room and gives her a quick, doting hug before hurrying off to his own classroom, mumbling something about pranks undoubtedly being underfoot in his absence.

Hinata allows Shino’s students to braid and play with her hair for the rest of her time there, and leaves the Academy with a thickly weaved tail running jaggedly down her back. Flyaways come from nearly every section of the braid, but she leaves it in nonetheless.

She thinks about the kids at the Academy the entire way back to her place, so lost in her thoughts of what kinds of young adults they’ll grow to be, and how she’d felt at their age, that she doesn’t even notice the messenger on her doorstep until she’s a few paces away from him. Even more disconcerting than missing his presence until she’s this close, is that it still takes her a few moments to reconcile his familiar face with his presence on her doorstep.

“Kawabuchi-san?”

“In the flesh,” he greets, before wincing. “No matter how many times I say that, it always sounds weird.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Ah,” he pauses, lifting a hand to rub absentmindedly at his nape. “I was at the Hokage tower, but for some reason the Hokage wasn’t in his office so I had to wait a bit.”

Hinata doesn’t show any reaction to this news, but amusement floods her system and she has to force herself not to smile. Kakashi’s little field trip away from his office is a secret she intends to keep, even if it isn’t something of telling significance.

“When he came around he was in a hurry, lots of people talking at him and everything. He finally got to me and we had our debriefing session, then his assistant shoved a file at him. Next thing I know I was following behind him as he headed to who knows where, and he was sending me off with coordinates and a message. For here. For you.”

Hinata shifts her weight, frowning. Her thoughts trace around open space, wondering at what Kakashi’s message could be about, and why he couldn’t have said it to her just earlier that afternoon. The only hint she has is what his assistant had handed to him.

“What’s the message?”

Ren reaches into one of the front pockets in his Jounin vest and uncovers a crisp envelope, sealed with Konoha’s symbol in melted wax, perched between his pointer and middle finger.

“Not sure,” he admits, holding it out to her. “It’s this little thing.”

She takes it hesitantly, curious but suspicious, wondering what could be important enough to be passed to her from the Hokage. Even more disarming, if it is actually something important, why had it been written down and passed through a third party bystander? Even if it had been stamped and sealed? Hinata gives up on contemplating the process of it and simply tucks the message in her pocket, not wanting to read it in front of anyone. Not even Ren. For some reason, it feels too personal for that.

“Ah,” Ren seems to realize this at the same time, nodding his head in understanding. He makes to head off, undoubtedly on his way home to relax, since he’d just returned from a mission.

“Kawabuchi-san,” she calls, waiting for him to turn back to her. His eyebrows tilt in curiosity, his expression open. “How did Hokage-sama know we knew one another?”

Ren shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t think he did, actually. I was just in the right place at the right time, I guess.”

“Mm,” Hinata hums, nodding her head even as she wonders at Kakashi’s mysterious ability to know more than he should, even before he’d become Hokage. She palms the note in her pocket, curiosity eating away at her. “I guess so.”

“Hey, listen,” he turns back to her, hands tucked in his pockets. There’s a lightness to his cheeks, a soft spread of heat that surprises her. “Do you want to get some dinner? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Startled, Hinata only blinks at him, her heart pounding with nervousness. Is he asking her on a date? Or is he simply hungry, and wants to spend time eating with a friend? She has no idea how to maneuver in these fields; she’s never had the experience before. Before this strange news of suitors had infiltrated her peaceful ignorance of such things, she’d always thought anyone’s interest in her was more an interest in seeking friendship with her.

Now, however, she’s unsure.

She has no idea what to say, so she blurts, “what?”

“Dinner,” Ren repeats softly, determined. His expression and tone are both gentle enough to soothe some of her nerves, though they remain right under the surface. “Are you hungry?”

Before Hinata can even begin to think of how to answer that—it seems like far more is required than an honest answer of _yes, I am hungry_ —she glances over his shoulder and sees Sakura heading towards them. She releases a quiet exhale, relieved.

“Hey,” she calls when she’s only a few feet away, glancing curiously at the back of Ren until she’s at Hinata’s side.

“Hi,” Hinata greets, unconsciously leaning into her space. Ren glances at her, surprised at her presence, and Hinata watches as recognition bleeds over his features when he sees her face and the telltale shock of her pink hair.

“Oh,” Sakura says, upon seeing Ren’s face. Her eyes widen and Hinata is surprised at the mirrored recognition in her features, only slightly different than Ren’s own. “Kawabuchi-san.”

“Haruno-san,” he greets, eyebrows hitched high in even more surprise. “I wasn’t aware you knew who I was.”

Sakura hums, letting all of her weight settle over her left hip. She looks just this side of dangerous, suddenly, and Hinata hopes it’s just the angle of dying light as it falls around them. “I could say the same.”

“Well,” Ren snorts, feeling more at ease after his initial surprise. “It’s not difficult to recognize the Godaime’s apprentice and Rokudaime’s own student. Even beyond those associations, you’ve made quite a name for yourself.”

“Perhaps you have a point,” Sakura smiles politely, but there’s a sharp edge to it that has Hinata’s earlier hope dwindling. Now, she’s thinking the best she can hope for is that she won’t have to be responsible for scraping pieces of Kawabuchi Ren off her front steps. She prays Sakura is on her best behavior.

“Doesn’t explain how you recognized me, though.” Ren is either far less tactful than Hinata had previously given him credit for, or he is confident enough in himself to stare a disgruntled bear straight in the eyes even after it’s shown its teeth. “I’m no one so important.”

“Oh, but you could be,” Sakura begins, sidling closer to Hinata. She executes the move incredibly subtly, but there’s no way either Hinata or Ren can miss the underlying threat of it. “I might know your name, Kawabuchi-san, but I don’t know much else. Might I ask how you and Hinata know each other? She’s dear to me, and I’m known to be a little protective.”

“We met at the training grounds just behind my compound,” Hinata answers her, just this side of wary. She casts Sakura a questioning look, wondering over the interrogation. Sakura’s grin is sugary sweet when she glances at Hinata, but her gaze is lethally sharp. Hinata can’t help but try to even the odds between Ren and Sakura, especially since the former never really stood a chance; so she adds, “We’re friends.”

Sakura nods her head, pretending for a moment to accept this at face value. Hinata has a moment to think how much worse this could actually be, if Ino had been with Sakura.

“Well,” Sakura’s hands rest on her hips, her stance wide and empowering. Ren lifts a hand to run his fingers through the longer strands of his hair that frame his face, tucking them away from where they’d hung in his eyes. “A friend of Hinata’s is a friend of mine. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” he returns, nodding. He glances at Hinata with open amusement, understanding exactly what kind of circumstances he’s currently in. Hinata really has to worry about his apparent lack of self-preservation.

“I do hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Sakura continues, knowing perfectly well that she _had_ in fact interrupted something. The corner of Ren’s lips quirk, a tiny crack. Sakura leaps on it instantly, relentless. “Oh, I did, didn’t I?”

Hinata gives Sakura a stern, scolding look that rolls immediately off of her back. Sakura, completely unaffected, stares at Ren long enough for Hinata to join her. She watches his expression, and the apparent way he wars with telling her exactly what she’d interrupted or pretending he’d never asked in the first place. Ultimately, in a show of Ren’s bravery or abject carelessness, the former wins out.

“I was just asking Hinata if she’d like to get dinner with me.”

“Dinner!” Sakura exclaims, eyebrows jumping. She turns to Hinata and every ounce of coy amusement glitters in her wide eyes, her smile hitched in just the right way for Hinata to know that even if Ino isn’t present for this new development now, she’s going to be brought up to speed within the _night_. “Sounds interesting. And what, pray tell, was Hinata’s answer?”

Ren, for the first time reacting to Sakura’s disingenuous tone, lets a frown form on his face. It’s not something Hinata likes seeing from him; it’s clear, also, that he’s unfamiliar with Sakura’s particularly wicked brand of playfulness. He might also be more sensitive than Hinata had originally thought, which somehow inexplicably makes her want to protect him. So she feels no qualms in shutting down Sakura’s fun for the night, even though she’d been glad for her initial interruption in the first place.

“I hadn’t yet answered, Sakura-san.” She admits, frowning pointedly at her friend. This gesture of chiding seems to work, at least, as Sakura deflates with a sigh and rolls her eyes in Hinata’s direction. It’s not exactly an Ino-gesture, but it reads with equal levels of Ino’s sass. Hinata turns back to Ren with more confidence in her answer, now that she’s had the time to think it over. “But I am actually hungry. Would you mind waiting a bit? I need to change.”

Ren’s eyes light right up. “Yeah, no problem. I should probably head home and shower first, too. I can meet you back here?”

Even though she doesn’t know where he lives, she doesn’t want to force him to return all the way to her place, so she simply shakes her head. “We can meet somewhere in-between?”

“The Hokage tower is a good middle ground,” Ren suggests after a moment of thought, hesitantly flicking his gaze to Sakura. It seems now, at least, he knows to be wary of her. Hinata’s expression eases, her gaze bright.

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll see you there.” Ren takes a few steps back, waving to the both of them. He hesitates for only a moment, before calling out, “Nice meeting you, Haruno-san. Have a nice night.”

“To you as well,” Sakura calls, crossing her arms over her chest. She glances to Hinata before he’s even completely out of view, and says, “He sure is polite.”

“Sakura-san,” Hinata scolds, tone reprimanding. “You didn’t have to give him the third-degree.”

Sakura’s eyes gleam; “Oh, but I had so much fun.”

Rolling her eyes, Hinata turns to her apartment, knowing that Sakura will follow her. “How do you know him, anyways? I was waiting to introduce him to you and Ino-san.”

Sakura hums as Hinata gets her keys in the door, finagling with the lock. She dodges, asking, “Waiting for what?”

Hinata hesitates as she clicks the lock out of place, and wedges the door open with her shoulder. “To see if he was…you know, safe. To introduce.”

Sakura snorts behind her. “Typical you.”

Heat flaring over her cheeks, she steps through the threshold and welcomes Sakura into her place with a widely sweeping arm. It’s not the first time Sakura has been inside since she’d finished unpacking, or even painting, but the gesture never fails to make Sakura laugh.

“I apologize for the smell,” Hinata warns as she locks the door behind them. “I’m still painting the kitchen.”

“Totally fine,” Sakura responds, heading there first. She stands with her hands on her hips again, peering in at the unfinished walls, half of them stark white, half of them bleeding red. “Shit, that color is awesome. I don’t care what Ino-pig says, this red looks great.”

Hinata glances happily at the first coat of her red wall, her heart fluttering at the compliment. “It still needs a few coats. It’ll be a tiny bit darker than this.”

“It’ll look amazing, Hinata.”

“I think so, too.”

Sakura wanders over to the couch to run her fingers over the blanket Gai-sensei had made for her, smiling fondly at it. She glances up at Hinata as she heads towards her, and says, “He made me one too, you know? I told him about how I envied your knitting skills and he gave me the whole spiel about following your dreams. ‘You can do _anything_ ’ he shouted with his ear-shattering voice in the tiny expanse of my apartment, probably waking all the neighbors who then probably issued sound complaints for my room. And then the next thing I know, I’ve got a blanket the colors of cotton candy on my doorstep and a note that says ‘follow your dreams; remain ever youthful!’ in green marker.”

Hinata laughs behind her hand, shaking her head. She wonders how many people in the village have Gai-issued blankets in their homes, and would guess a healthy hundred if she had to make a wager.

“I think yours looks like the first touches of a sunrise, actually.”

“Yeah,” Sakura agrees with a quiet snort, hopping onto the couch and letting her head tilt back against the armrest. “Cotton candy colors.”

Hinata sits on the other end of the couch, lifting Sakura’s outstretched feet and placing them on her legs. She leans back and lets her head rest, too, content in a quick moment of relaxation.

“I have to get ready soon,” she announces to the open air, an acknowledgement of sorts. She’s hoping the verbal reminder of it will help get her up and moving, since she’s now so utterly comfortable on her couch she doesn’t even want to move. Sakura’s head comes back up and she narrows her eyes at Hinata, her playful smile returning.

“Speaking of,” she begins, purposely jostling her feet on Hinata’s lap so as to get her full attention. Hinata sits up and lifts an eyebrow at her. “Do you know who that guy is?”

Hinata smells a trick question. “…Kawabuchi Ren? A Jounin?”

Sakura gives her a patient look. “Yes, Kawabuchi Ren, a Jounin, and also, as it happens, one of your _suitors_.”

Hinata frowns at Sakura, openly disbelieving. Sakura lifts her hands defensively, as if to say, _I’m not making this up!_

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh,” Sakura laughs, expression direct. “I’m deadly serious.

“He didn’t even know who I was when the whole,” here, Hinata waves her hands around in a vague gesture to encompass the empty space in front of her, “ _admirers_ thing happened. He’s just a friend.”

“Please,” Sakura pins her in place, her gaze steely and resolute. “Don’t you remember? When we all had dinner together?”

Suspicious, Hinata mutters, “Remember what? In particular?”

“When Genma was describing your admirers? I distinctly remember him describing one of them as a dusty-haired pretty boy.”

Blushing, Hinata thinks back to that night and all the absurd things that Genma had said. Truthfully, that entire conversation had made her so nervous she’s surprised she hadn’t fainted, but if she’s being completely honest with herself…she does actually remember him mentioning someone with dusty-hair, and fair features. Kawabuchi Ren just so happens to fit both of those molds perfectly, but then, how many people in the village might also fit those descriptors?

“I remember that,” Hinata hesitantly admits, before shaking her head. “But that could be anyone, Sakura-san. You know it could be anyone.”

Sakura nods. “Sure, it could. But you know what else Genma said? That this particular dusty-haired pretty boy spends quite a bit of time training at the grounds _just_ behind your compound. It’s funny, but did you not just tell me a little bit ago that you two met at the grounds just outside your family’s compound?”

Hinata’s heart picks up speed just as her thoughts trace the pattern Sakura’s truths reveal to her, until her nerves are at the surface once again. Sakura notices the startled recognition in her eyes instantly, and becomes entirely self-satisfied.

“I hate to say I told you so,” she sings, wiggling her legs a bit. “But he’s definitely the pretty boy admirer. And I know this is a lot for you to take in so suddenly, but him asking you to dinner tonight? _Totally_ not an I-just-want-to-be-friends thing. Definitely, definitely a date thing. In case you were wondering.”

Hinata does not admit that she _had_ been wondering, because she’s too busy lifting her hands to cover her heated face. She groans through her fingertips, embarrassed that she hadn’t made these connections earlier, that Sakura had known Ren for two minutes and already had him pegged for exactly what he is—and what Hinata must now grudgingly admit that he is—one of the people who is interested in her.

“How did I not see it?” she groans, her words muffled by her hands. She thinks about their encounters, and the ways they had interacted, and realizes that so many times he had been _flirting_ with her and she hadn’t even known.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Sakura hedges, hesitant. “But when it comes to your self-esteem, and the fact that people recognize how awesome and worthy of love you are, sometimes you’re not the sharpest kunai in the pack.”

Hinata drags her fingers over her face and turns to Sakura with a weary expression, not offended in the slightest. “I can’t deny that.”

“But I mean you’ve already grown so much. This is just another growing experience. You have, like, _several_ people shouting your name to the night sky, hoping you’ll notice them. I’m not even exaggerating!”

Hinata chooses to ignore those last few comments; she refuses to go near them. Instead, she groans again, quiet and worried. She feels the retreat of Sakura’s feet, and then the bow in the cushion beside her as Sakura nestles up against her side, resting her head on Hinata’s shoulder. Hinata, in turn, rests her head against Sakura’s, and sighs, “What should I do?”

There’s a long pause, pregnant with sudden tension, before Sakura cautiously says, “Well, if you want to see if he’s right for you…you can give it a try. You should…probably tell Naruto, though. If that’s what you choose—”

“Oh!” Hinata gasps, her entire body tensing. “No, no I don’t want anyone but Naruto. I’ve _never_ wanted anyone but Naruto.”

Sakura sighs so loudly it’s apparent that she’d been worried, even while remaining supportive of Hinata as only a best friend could. Hinata snuggles closer to her in response, understanding how difficult that must’ve been for Sakura, to suggest someone over her own brother simply because she wants Hinata to be happy.

“I thought so,” Sakura breathes in relief. “But I just wanted to make sure.”

“Always,” Hinata whispers a moment later, tone quiet but sincere. “I have always only seen Naruto.”

“Yeah,” Sakura laughs lowly, “I know. I think that might also be why this whole situation comes as such a shock to you. For you, it’s always been Naruto, that loveable idiot. But now, there’s others coming into your line of sight, more noticeably than ever before.”

“Maybe,” Hinata allows, then, “Probably.”

“Naruto’s a lucky guy,” Sakura sighs. “And when he finally gets his head screwed on right, you’ll be the luckiest girl, too.”

“I like the way his head’s screwed on,” Hinata mutters playfully, pursing her lips.

Sakura laughs. “You _would_.”

They fall into a lapse of silence, with Hinata’s mind tracing every possible way to make this situation with Ren as painless as possible. She thinks about the different parts of Kawabuchi Ren that she has seen, the inherent playfulness, the earnestness before a sparring battle, the gentleness of his expressions as they flicker through his reigning emotions. She thinks about the remarks he’s made about her past self, as someone he admired and respected, and how easy it is for her to get along with him. She factors in everything she can about him, and her, as individuals and as friends—even while she knows that she’s doing far too much thinking about this, far more than any ordinary person probably would—and she comes to a decision that she knows she’ll stand behind.

After several long moments, she whispers, “I would like to be his friend, though.”

Sakura takes this in stride without pause, humming in contemplation. “It’s totally possible. And just because he wants to tattoo your name on his ass—”

“Sakura-san,” Hinata moans, “be _serious_.”

“—Doesn’t mean you can’t go to dinner with him. Or lunch. Or breakfast, for that matter.” Sakura continues thoughtfully, wriggling against Hinata to get more comfortable. “You can hang out with him in pretty much any regard, Hinata; you’re an accountable, self-empowered adult. The only catch? You have to be honest with him, even if it hurts.”

Hinata appreciates these words more than anything else Sakura might have said the most, because she left it clipped on purpose. She did not say _even if it hurts_ him, because she knows that being brutally honest with Ren, even if he is only a new friend and someone she’s still learning to care about, will hurt her, too. She is a sensitive person by nature, and letting others down in any regard has always been a difficult measure for her.

“You’re right.” She sighs, lifting a hand to rub distractedly at her nose.

“Hell yeah I am.” Sakura agrees, and Hinata can hear the smile in her voice. “It’s not gonna be easy, Hinata. But you can do it. And you’ll both be better off, for it. He’ll know where he stands with you, and hopefully he’ll be able to move on. And, depending on how he responds, like if he also wants to remain friends, then you won’t have to worry that you’re stringing him along or anything. You can just be friends.”

“It sounds so easy when you say it like that.”

“Doesn’t everything?”

“Life is so messy, sometimes.”

“True,” Sakura agrees. “But we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Hinata spends a few more quiet moments with Sakura on the couch before getting up to change her clothes. She lays out something similar to her present outfit, though this set is far fresher since it had recently been washed, and she’d just completed a mission in the former set. It’s when she begins to remove her jacket that her hand scrapes lightly against the sealed note folded up in her pocket, and she remembers the private message passed on from the Hokage.

Nerves suddenly stoked like a fine fire, she pops the seal on the scrap of paper and reads the message left behind.

 

            _Hyuuga Hinata, Jounin  
__Konohagakure  
__Fire Country_

 _On behalf of the_ Village Hidden in the Leaves _, I am pleased to invite you to be an active intern at the_ Academy _. This invitation is effective for the spring semester period, due to begin on the 1_ st of April and to conclude on the 20th of July.*

_During this period, you will be engaged in the active participation of a chosen class. A mentor will be assigned to you, and will guide you through teaching experience opportunities as well as offering personal instruction, guidance, and insight. This program understands and values the youth of Konohagakure, and responds to their education with enthusiasm and diligence. It is our intention and our passion to teach these young people proper protocols for safety, morality, duty, and honor. We expect our faculty and our interns alike to embody each of these cornerstones; together, they help stoke the flames needed for Konohagakure patrons that wield the Will of Fire._

_For more information regarding funding, housing, health insurance, and requirements, seek the index on iia of the attached pamphlet._  
_For a more thorough understanding of the specific duties and expectations of an intern for this position, see Section 3-B of the attached pamphlet.  
_ _If you have any other questions, feel free to seek the listed website, or visit the internship department located on the first floor of the Hokage Tower._

_This internship is highly selective. Only those whom have reached a number of first-stage requirements and have been personally elected by a superior officer* are considered. We are delighted that you will join a highly selective group of individuals here at the Academy, and we look forward to meeting you._

_  
Sincerely,_

_Konoha Go-Ikenban_  
_&  
_ _Rokudaime Hokage_

 _*Should you wish to extend this offer of internship past the end date of spring semester, consent from a mentor as well as the written approval of the current Hokage is mandatory.  
_ _*Good luck, Hinata-chan!_

The shock of the letter astounds her to the point that she more or less falls onto her bed, her chest feeling exponentially heavier than it had just a moment ago. An internship? As an academy teacher? How in the world had she been selected as a viable candidate? She had never filled out any such forms or paperwork; she had never even expressed an interest in becoming a teacher to anyone other than Hanabi at times—but even then, she had mostly just been expressing verbal curiosity over the career.

Hinata _loves_ being a shinobi. She enjoys the lifestyle even though it’s difficult, and it hurts, and it involves so much loss sometimes she wonders if she can truly bear it.

It may involve all of those things, but it also keeps her strong, and quick, and wise. She can protect herself seamlessly, as well as her loved ones and her village. She gets to travel and explore, to meet people from distant lands and exchange cultural ideals and norms with curious and respectful enthusiasm. She has met so many incredible, wonderful people around the world simply because of her chosen career, one that she had worked for her entire life. She had bled, sweat, and shed tears countless times and in countless ways to get to where she is now.

And yet, she has a good head on her shoulders. She thinks about the future, and the possibility of having a home life, of children, of a close-knit family. She knows firsthand that one can raise a child well and still be an active Jounin, Kurenai is a testament to this very fact. But she also knows how hard it works her sensei, and how much she struggles just to make ends meet; she knows how difficult it is to spend time away from Yuuhi, and how much more stressful missions become simply because she knows she has a child at home waiting for her to return.

Hinata has thought about the possibility of becoming an academy teacher, but in her hypothetical situations, she had always been older when she did. Older, and either fostering a family or helping her significant other support one.

How often does an internship this specialized and singular come around, though? If she rejects it now, will she ever be extended an invitation again later on, when she thinks the time is right? Or will her opportunity pass over her like a breeze?

Her mind whirls with the possibilities, until she realizes that she’s over thinking this. An internship is not a permanent job, and neither is a position at the Academy. This invitation is a one-time deal, she thinks, but her choice of career is not. It seems too simple, then, that her mind clears around the possibility she and Hanabi had never hammered out through the night air between them, whenever one of them brought this subject up.

The way she sees it, she has three fair options.

First, she can go through the internship and then the schooling while still working part-time; then, she can officially get her teaching license and _return_ to full-time active duty. Seamlessly. Later, when she’s ready to settle down and stick closer to home, she can retest, reinstate her license, and fulfill her career in teaching.

Or, she could take this internship, follow through with the schooling, fall in love with a career of teaching, and become a full-time Academy teacher.

The final option involves rejecting the internship entirely albeit politely, and maintaining her duties as a full-time active Jounin for as long as she can.

Her thoughts rage chaotically behind her skull and she knows that she won’t be making a decision now, or even any time soon. The letter had been sent with plenty of time for consideration, considering she still had months ahead before the Academy’s spring semester even begins. She’s certain that she’s going to need to discuss this with people that are close to her, to get outside opinions and advice.

She already knows the stops she’ll make, the people she’ll ask for council, and the opinions she’ll value the most. Her first stop will be Nara Shikaku.

However, this first stop is still leagues away from her, so she pushes the thoughts of advice from her mind and refocuses on wondering how in the world this letter had even found its way to her doorstep in the first place. She can’t remember a single time that she had ever expressed an interest publically. Her mind jumps to her last meeting with Iruka and Kakashi, and her hand lifts the letter up in front of her eyes once again. Her fingers tremble as she re-reads it, her shock nearly palpable.

Her eyes trail over the second emphasized line, jumping to the bottom of the page to the second starred bullet. _Good luck, Hinata-chan!_ How had she missed that on her first read-through? It must have been the sheer astonishment at the content that had allowed her to scrape over it.

That horrendous, nearly illegible handwriting is unmistakable.

Hatake Kakashi, the infamous Copy Nin, Naruto’s team leader and Rokudaime Hokage…is the elite superior officer that personally selected her for this program?

She’d like to think that stranger thinks have happened to her, but at this point her thoughts are at a cliff’s edge with nothing substantial leading out in front of her anymore. She’s at an impasse with her own understanding of this situation and all that may have led to it.

With a long, drawn-out exhale, she hops up from her bed and folds the letter back up, slipping it carefully into its envelope and into the drawer of her bedside table. She will look back at it on another day, when she doesn’t already have so much on her mind.

Like a friendly dinner with someone who wants to be more than friends with her, or the continued absence of Naruto, who has been on mission for almost two months now. She forces herself to shut down all thoughts that incite stress and allows herself to just breathe. She moves around thoughtlessly, running on autopilot as Sakura naps in her living room, on her couch.

Sakura had told her that she’d just been coming by to check up with Hinata after her mission, making sure everything had gone well. She’d mentioned wanting to check in on the kitchen’s new paint, too, and that it had been pure coincidence for her to run into Hinata and Ren. When she’d pressed her, asking how Sakura knew him, Sakura had finally squeaked like a rusty wheel.

“Ino found him,” she had admitted, shrugging. “She’s like a Hunter-nin when admirers are abound. She told me all about him. She even had pictures.”

Hinata is not surprised by this turn of events, though she is slightly disgruntled. This means that, surely, the next time she sees Ino, the two of them (or three, if Sakura is present—which she probably will be), will undoubtedly shift the conversation to suit Ino’s gossip needs.

When she’s finally dressed in her new clothes and made sure that there’s no mud or blood on her face—she really should’ve showered—she heads back out into the living room and gently taps Sakura’s shoulder to wake her. Sakura blinks blearily up at her, still mostly asleep. Hinata wriggles Gai’s blanket out from under her, flicks it out and covers Sakura as best as she can. She nearly goes around to tuck her in, until she sees Sakura’s eyes gleaming comically at her. Hinata’s petty vengeance is that she decidedly does _not_ tuck Sakura in.

“So,” she whispers, not wanting to startle Sakura in her sleepy state any more than she has to. “You think I should tell him tonight?”

“Sooner the better,” Sakura mumbles, snuggling into the blanket. And then, a moment later, “Good luck, Hinata-chan.”

Hinata’s thoughts instantly race back to the letter, and to Kakashi’s addendum, and she shudders. Concealing her disquiet easily enough from her drowsy friend, she asks, “You spending the night?”

Sakura peers through her eyelashes. “’S that okay?”

Hinata rolls her eyes, simply for Sakura’s benefit. “Of course. I’ll be back soon. Please don’t attack me when I come in.”

“No promises,” Sakura sings, before turning and tucking herself in. Hinata moves towards the door and grabs a scarf the shade of the ocean’s depths, wrapping it clumsily around her throat. She thinks she hears Sakura mumble something about how creepily energetic Jounin shouldn’t be able to knit so damn well, but then again, maybe Hinata’s just hearing things.

She locks the door behind her as quietly as she can, and steps out onto her tiny stoop, shoving her fists into her pockets. The first of what is sure to be countless snowflakes falls gracefully through the air, before dissolving against her cheek.

She steps out into the evening air and heads for the Hokage tower with a heavy heart, steely determination, and a healthy dose of optimism 

This, too, she will overcome.

 

✧

 

In the following month, Hinata overcomes several challenges.

She manages to let Kawabuchi Ren down as gracefully, but indisputably, as she possibly can, and somehow retains the playful friendship they’d already begun to foster. His disappointment had been a palpable trail in the air between them, and the pain he’d tried so valiantly to mask had flickered over his expression without control. Her eyes had missed nothing, not the deflated tilt to his shoulders, or the bow of his head as he attempted to regain his footing.

But Kawabuchi Ren turned out to be far more admirable a person than she had ever anticipated. She could see the struggle in him, wanting to ask her why the two of them wouldn’t work, why she wouldn’t at least give him a shot—she admired the strength of keeping those kinds of questions in, because it meant he respected her enough as a person and a woman to understand that no _means no_.

However, since it had been her choice, and her discretion, and because she had felt comfortable enough with him to do so, she had offered him the simplest but most unyielding explanation that she had.

That her heart belongs to someone else, that it always had, that it always will.

Even though it had clearly been difficult to hear, and he had been silent for a long while afterwards, his openness to a friendship with her and his acceptance of the olive branch she’d extended to him had been a welcome relief.

Hinata knows that she had been lucky with Kawabuchi Ren—that many people respond to bad news with anger, or guilt-trips. Ino has broken too many wanting hearts for Hinata to be completely ignorant of the variety of potential responses. But Ren had not shown an ounce of anger, only sadness, only hurt.

Even still, in the month since she had closed off any sort of potential romantic bud between them, he had not changed in any obvious way. Hinata knows that had her eyes been any less keen, she would have missed the minute changes in his expressions when he looks at her now, or the way his hands fist at his sides when they walk together, as if he has to enforce some kind of control not to reach out and touch her.

She hurts for him, but his respect for them as friends, for her as a person, and for himself, as well, all make the bond growing between them far more worthy of protecting.

This, along with his excellent response to rejection, and his overwhelmingly charming, yet delicate nature, are what eventually lead to her introducing him into her pool of friends. She meets his, as well, and finds them rather different than him, though not disapprovingly so. He clashes with Kiba almost instantly, because it’s Kiba, but gets along swimmingly with Shino. It seems that, as someone with an earth element nature, he is quite the avid fan of gardening.

It doesn’t hurt that he doesn’t have an apparent aversion to bugs, either.

Soon enough, Ren has met every one of her generation, except.

Except Naruto.

Worry is a constant companion; she knows that Naruto is on a mission, Sakura had told her so explicitly, though she hadn’t been able to say more than that, and she knows that Naruto gets along with just about every single person he meets, but some part of her wonders.

Will he get along with Ren? Even when he knows that he had been—or still might be—interested in her? She knows better than to think that Naruto will do something so thickheaded as try to attack him, though he might actually offer to spar and then inadvertently try to _kill him_ , but she’s fairly certain he won’t do that. Fairly certain.

No matter how many hypothetical scenarios she comes up with, none of them amount to what will ultimately be the reality of the two of them meeting. She knows this. But she can’t help but worry, even with this knowledge.

It’s been over two months since she’d last seen him, since she’d last held his hand, and been able to tuck herself into the warmth of his embrace. It gets to the point where she starts to feel greedy with her desires, especially with her past, when Naruto had been nothing more than a distant sun in her field of view; when he had been too far away to reach, but so bright, and so warm, that she’d been drawn to him her entire life all the same.

But now that she knows what it’s like to be his? Missing him when he’s gone feels a whole lot more painful than having not known what it was like to be his, and wishing he was by her side.

Whenever she gets too lost in her own thoughts and worries, Sakura is usually around to comfort her. She has any number of backhanded compliments to offer Naruto’s inability to be murdered on a mission, which serve to make Hinata feel good for just about the moment of her laughter in response to Sakura’s delivery of comfort, and then not at all.

Eventually she just gets used to him not being there. This is something she is almost grateful for, because she knows she will have a lot of this in the future, if he chooses to remain by her side. He, too, will have to get used to this feeling. He is not the only Jounin in the village that gets sent on long-term missions, after all.

Hinata and her team are handed a mid-term mission a few days after this new acceptance, one that should last them just under a month in Suna. They are given a day in-between to prepare for the mission, before a departure time early enough in the morning that the birds won’t even be awake yet.

Hinata prepares for this mission in the same way she always prepares for higher-level missions: she trains, she packs, she triple-checks all of her things, she waters her plants, and she generally refuses any shifts at the hospital. Usually, this routine leaves her primed and in optimum condition for her missions; it’s foolproof.

However, her routine does not plan for an influx of patients in the hospital due to an entire Hunter-nin unit being ambushed, especially when the situation is bad enough that every single one of them come in the hospital doors either in critical condition or on death’s doorstep. This occurrence just so happens to fall on the afternoon before the day she’s to leave for her mission, and both her duty and her compassion prevent her from ignoring the call for aid.

She works an undocumented six-hour shift in which she barely has time to breathe for herself, let alone think about the mission she needs to be leaving for in just less than five hours. By the time they’ve got the unit in relatively stable condition, with only one loss, Tsunade gets wind of Hinata’s presence, and with some underhanded awareness that Hinata is going on a mission in a few hours—Hinata thinks she gets a few perks of Intel, having been the previous Hokage—she is promptly booted from the hospital with a stern, slashing scolding from the Godaime herself.

Hinata makes it to her apartment with sluggish movements and heavy shoulders, barely making it out of her work clothes and into sleeping ones before promptly collapsing onto her bed. She falls asleep in minutes, too exhausted to think, already submerged in a dreamless state of total relaxation and absence of worry.

Then, consciousness creeps back up in the form of some suspicious noises shifting by her window. She recognizes the time, first, just after one in the morning, and then her vulnerable position on her bed. She rolls onto the ground, grabs the kunai she hides under her bed, and is about to activate her Byakugan when the presence vanishes from her window and a hesitant knocking sounds on her front door.

She blinks in the direction of it, still dazed from sleep, still clenching her kunai in her hands. She activates her Byakugan, just to be safe, and startles awake when she sees that it’s _Naruto_. She has a vanishing moment to wonder what he’s doing here so late, and then the more pressing thought of whether or not he’s _safe_ , before she heads towards the door, her Byakugan fading.

She doesn’t have the presence of mind or the capacity to care that she approaches the door in her pajamas, even if they are the garishly bright orange ones she still refuses to explain to the friends that had managed to catch a glimpse of them. She doesn’t even realize she’s wearing his jacket over them, either. All she knows is that she’s warm and Naruto’s on her doorstep, present for the first time in months.

She tosses the kunai carelessly aside and hears it land on the kitchen table (she hopes not _in_ the kitchen table), and opens the door immediately. She gives no thought to her wildly mussed bed hair, or the pillow lines on the side of her face, or the potential of drool on her chin.

“Hey,” Naruto whispers, eyes trailing keenly over her features, drinking her in. His voice is so quiet it immediately startles her; she doesn’t even consider that he’d use an inside voice to be _polite_ , since it’s so early in the morning not even the sun has risen. She simply feels the heat of concern racing through her, and flicks her gaze over every inch of him she can see, looking for an injury. When she doesn’t find one, she studies his expression, so vivid and far too alert for this time of the morning.

“Hi,” she greets quickly, quietly. She tries to blink more clarity into her tired eyes. “Are you okay?”

Naruto nods, and his expression is both as soft and dazzling as the sunrise. He leans forward ever so slightly to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, a gesture only he has ever done and that she has missed _sorely_ , before allowing the tips of his fingers to lightly graze the shell of her ear. He drags them down along the hinge of her jaw, to the subtly rounded point of her chin, until they trail through the air between them and fall back to his side.

He says, “I’m okay, don’t worry.”

She can’t help but give him a critical look, at that. She glances over his head at the still-bloated moon and back to him in as pointed a manner as she can manage at one in the morning with almost no sleep.

“I worry,” she whispers, quiet but unapologetic. She watches him smile, the shift slow and languid, the first sign of a true morning expression that she’s seen of him.

“I know,” he replies, and it sounds how a caress feels.

After what seems an impossibly long moment of silence, he says, almost like a confession, “I’ve got another mission.”

After another long moment, in which silence reigns between them, Hinata finally nods her head in understanding. Her heart is a stone, heavy and sharp in her chest at the thought of him not being able to stay, and rest, and recuperate by her side. She aches for his determination to make things right in the world, even to his own detriment. She knows he can do it, though—that he _will_ do it. He will succeed.

But that does not mean that he won’t run himself ragged in the process.

She understands, though, the reason for him being on her doorstep so early this morning. This is a pointed meeting, one that is important enough for him to brave interrupting her sleep. She remembers the time when he had returned to the village and been unable to find her, and how he had nearly been beside himself with worry. She remembers him telling her how he’d looked for her, how he hadn’t known if she was even still in the village, and how that had shaken him.

Now, he is letting her know explicitly that he will be away from the village. And if he is doing so in such a meaningful, significant manner—so early in the morning, with such a serious tone, she knows even before he explains that this next mission will take him from the village, from her, for an especially long time.

It’s a courtesy and a promise; _I’m leaving, but I will return._

“I should be back before the year ends.”

He sounds like he knows exactly how that feels to hear, and even winces a little with the verbal delivery of it. Hinata, for all her strength, manages a slow nod. She wants desperately to be strong for him, to make his leaving easier if she doesn’t cling and express how much she wants him to _stay_ , but even still, she is not perfect. A frown mars her mask of control, and her eyes become glassy enough to hint at coming tears. She hates that the sensation is so easy to spread, that her cheeks are heated with nervousness and her shoulders bowed in sadness.

In that moment, she feels a growing admiration for the strength of Kawabuchi Ren, even more so than she had before. She thinks back to the way he had held himself together before crushing news, and she wishes she could respond in kind; what she would give for a sense of true poise and calm, in this moment.

“So long,” she admits in a whisper, with complete honesty, a question and a response. She may want to make his leave as painless as possible, but she can’t pretend that the length of it doesn’t affect her. She knows without seeing his expression that her own is a fractured mess of shadows and false strength.

Naruto hears her tone, sees her wet eyes, and steps closer to her. He moves right into her personal space, his shoulders hunched forward to better pull her into his warmth, as he is so like to do. He presses his forehead to hers, his every movement coming so easily to him, even when he’s never done anything like this before. She marvels over how he can be so confident in this, how he never even hesitates. She unabashedly loves him all the more for it, since her constant struggle is with trying _not_ to hesitate.

“I know,” he breathes, closing his eyes. Hinata can feel the frustration in every line of him, and knows that he feels the same dismay at the thought of being separated from her for so long. This, more than anything he might’ve said to her, touches her deeply, makes her heart flutter into overdrive. It helps, too, to make this moment seem less permanent. A year is a long time to not see someone you love, especially when the love between the two of you is _new_. Even still, she can barely believe that this is real, that this is her life—even after so many months of proof.

She can’t believe that Naruto feels the same way that she does.

The thought of her internship, her constant companion these days, looms in the forefront of her mind. When she feels the ragged edge of Naruto’s breath against her cheek, she makes a decision. It may not be fair of her and it may not be right, but she chooses, selfishly—or selflessly, she truly doesn’t know which is more applicable—not to mention the internship. She still has a couple of months to decide, but she’s already begun making her stops, and she’s gotten a decent amount of guidance from her closest and most trusted people already.

The only unanimous decision is that they want her to be happy, and to do what feels right to her. Their decisions in regards to the internship, however, are indistinct, as are her own. She had planned on asking Naruto what he thought about it, but now, with a mission this long-term, this _significant_ , well. It feels like adding unnecessary stress to the load he’s already bearing on his own. She doesn’t want to send him off with uncertainty on his brow.

So she keeps the internship to herself, and knows that whatever choice she makes will have to be completely separate from what she thinks Naruto might advise.

Maybe, she thinks, this is for the best.

“Be safe,” she commands gently, pulling back enough to lift a hand and trace the hard edge of his square jaw. She rests her hand there, against his cheek, thumb grazing lovingly over the scars carved so deeply into his face. He lifts his hand to hold hers there, presses it closer, and leans into it with eyes pressed closed, as if memorizing the feel of it.

It’s not dramatics. It’s life. As a shinobi, they are never guaranteed to return from their missions—even shinobi as strong, resilient, and _stubborn_ as Uzumaki Naruto. Death comes in unrecognizable waves, on its own time, in its own choice of location. Not even Naruto can dodge death, not when it counts.

But Hinata knows without the wavering touch of doubt that he’ll fight it back at every turn, and he won’t ever, _ever_ go easy.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Naruto jokes, smiling with humor. And then, quietly, so, so quietly, in more of a resigned exhale than an actual declaration, he breathes, “dattebayo.”

He opens his eyes and leans in, kissing her gently but with an eagerness she mirrors emphatically. He presses her back a step until she gets both of her feet solidly under her, and then she’s simply pressing as close to him as she can manage. She holds his jaw in her hands and kisses him back for all that she’s worth, even though she’s still so new to this. He kind of seems like he is, too, but she’s always been a little nervous to ask.

This kiss, more than the words they’d shared or the expressions they’d showed, communicates exactly how affected the both of them are by this news. It’s slow, and heart-wrenchingly gentle; an exploration to gain as much ground, to reach deeper and deeper until their very hearts beat in alignment against each other. Hinata had read somewhere that this phenomenon is more than a tale, that there is in fact truth to such a legend—there is, in fact, _something_ about certain cases of emotional connectedness that can literally change a pair’s heartbeats, until they’re nearly in sync.

Hinata knows that the connection between them is strong enough to manage something like that, and it makes her smile against his lips.

She is the first to pull away. She opens her eyes and sees Naruto’s furrowed brows over his closed eyes, and the endearing way that every line of his expression seems to not want to separate from her. She waits for his eyes to open, those beautiful blue eyes, and she leans in for a final, affectionate kiss.

“Hey,” he says, blinking his eyes open to study her receptive expression. “So, I’ve been meaning to tell you something. Sakura-chan kicked my ass a few months back about it, and I’ve been meaning to get around to it but the timing never seemed right.”

Hinata frowns, curiosity and concern warring over her features.

“And now, with this mission, it feels as right as it’s ever gonna be.”

Hinata almost doesn’t want to speak, in case it interrupts him and he decides not to share this secret with her after all. She can’t help her questioning tone, though, or the way she mutters a worried, “Naruto-kun?”

Naruto glances at the worried lines of her scrunched brows, and presses a finger between them to soothe her. His lopsided smile makes her heart flutter anew, and her tension falls to the wayside. His fingers slide down to touch her cheek, his movements so unbelievably gentle.

“I just need you to know,” he smiles, his expression sunshine bright. “You’re my girl, okay?”

Hinata feels pieces of her fall away, every bit of them tense and tight and raw. In their stead, there is only softness, and warmth, and joy. Her eyes water without her consent again, and her fingers tremble at her sides. She hears his words like echoes in her head, works desperately to convince herself that she’s awake and this isn’t some dream she’s having on her bed after a long night at the hospital. She pinches her thigh and it _hurts_ , and it’s the most beautiful flicker of pain she’s ever felt in her life.

Naruto continues on merrily, as if he’s unaware of the way that, all in the same stroke, his words have painted her anew in swathes of liquid gold, a glowing beacon of joy.

“And I’m your man, believe it! It feels so good to finally say that, you have no idea. I just don’t want to go on this mission without letting you know that this is how I’ve thought of us for a really long time. I just never could find the timing, or the right words. _Super_ embarrassing, right? Coming from Jiraiya-sensei’s student? He does call himself the master of the written word after all, though I still question that sometimes; his books make no sense. They’re awful. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Naruto runs a hand through his hair; fluffing it up and making it stand tall. He watches the myriad of emotions that cross over her face, each one more loving than the next, and his smile grows with each one.

“If I’ve learned anything from that bear of a man, though,” he continues, leaning forward again to press their foreheads together. Up this close, the sheer power of his beaming expression nearly burns her; it warms her from the core all the way to her fingertips. The sunrise pales in comparison to his smile, and the way it makes his eyes crinkle joyously. “It's how to say shit right.”

She laughs, and when he leans back and away from her, his glowing smile falls to something that moves her, physically moves her; it draws her in closer, and her heart responds in kind by beating rapidly enough that she wonders if he can hear its call. His eyes, so vivid and expressive, pin her in place with ease. His lips part and she can’t help but let her eyes trace the words that follow.

“Hinata,” he says lowly, unreservedly sincere. “You’re all I see. I look at the world around me and you’re—you’re everywhere. I see you in sunsets, in flowers, in trees. I see you in the resolve of the brats at the Academy, and the laughter of the people you walk by in the market. I can’t even eat ramen without thinking of you there beside me. And I really, really like it. I don’t ever want to lose it. I sort of love you, you know? Like big time.”

He steps up to her again, leans down and presses his lips to the corner of hers, his words the breeze behind a whisper.

“Sorry it took me so long to get here.”

These words, these sentiments, the naked expression of his love for her in every angle, dip, and curve of his expression, all of this incites every part of her into action. She seems to flow forward like a tide, until her arms surge around his neck and her lips mold to his with more passion than she’s ever allowed to flow forth. There isn’t an inkling of embarrassment in her, and the tears that fall down her cheeks are of joy, of joy, of _joy_ , and even though her hands still shake she cards them through Naruto’s hair and he anchors her, he steadies her.

He kisses her back with the same level of intensity, laughing against her lips, lifting her up off the ground until all of her weight is on him. It’s still so dark out, and she’s still exhausted from her shift at the hospital, and worried about his mission, and worried about her own, but there isn’t a single part of her that can overpower the surging rise of elation and relief throughout her body, rising and cresting through her in waves that grow with every new pull.

“I love you so,” she breathes against his lips, laughing along with him, “so, much.”

And then, while his eyes brighten to nearly clear pools that shine of their own accord, Hinata builds up her courage as her body slides back down against his, until her feet touch the ground. She rises to the tips of her toes until her lips are at his ear, and she shakily whispers, “You’re mine.”

She feels the shiver that runs through him in response, and it makes her feel powerful, and beautiful, and special. She pulls back and beams at him, letting every emotion she feels showcase over her face without ever pausing to think how Naruto might interpret them. She doesn’t need to worry, she realizes. He loves her the way she is, and right now, he’s mirroring every single delighted emotion she feels.

“Damn right,” Naruto cheers, pumping his fist. He’s practically dancing in place as he reaches out and carelessly tucks some of her hair behind her ear, laughing when he pokes her face in the same gesture. When he speaks, his tone is far more playful than hers had been, but the underlying sincerity of the words makes Hinata inhale. “And you’re _mine_.”

She quickly loses track of how long they stand together on her front stoop, hugging and nuzzling at each other with quiet laughter that neither of them seem able to contain. Before long, though, Naruto gets fidgety in a way that she recognizes, and she knows that his departure time may even be sooner than hers. She knows without asking that he can’t tell her where he’s going, because that’s information he would’ve offered to her freely, had he the option. Instead, she simply sighs against his chest, pressing a kiss to the material above his heart, and lifts her lips to press them gently against his chin.

“Better get going,” she breathes against his lips, the luster of her smile fading as reality closes in around them. The length of his mission is still daunting and disheartening, but even still, she attempts to soldier through it and show him the burning happiness he had illuminated under her skin. She knows that he can see right through it, though, and feels him curl closer to her protectively, as if to comfort her with the warmth of his presence. The promise of his absence, however, starts a minuscule chill in the center of her, somewhere deep enough that even she can’t reach it.

But now, with actual, verbal confirmation of his feelings for her? Some part of Hinata knows that they will make it through this, that their relationship, while novel, is already strong. Even distance and a stretch of time that leaves a sour taste in her mouth cannot deter them from being together, or from loving each other just as much as they do now, in this moment.

And for all of that, Hinata manages to rally her naturally supportive nature, and jokes; “They’ll treat you like Hatake-san if you’re late.”

Naruto plays along, shuddering good-naturedly at the idea of it.

“Wouldn’t want that,” he laughs, bobbing his head as he finally pulls away, taking a few steps back, never taking his eyes from her. He’s got his Jounin vest on, secured and sealed if a little lopsided, and she can’t help but think how much older he looks wearing it.

He says, “Take care of yourself, Hinata.”

She leans against the doorframe, watching as he tucks his hands into his pockets before balancing his weight on his heels, just about to fall backwards—

—And then he’s gone, with nothing but a wave of citrus on the tail end of the breeze to show for ever having been there.

 

✧

_Epilogue_

Several months later, Hinata receives a letter.

Is it the only contact Naruto has been able to make.

It reads, _won’t be home on time. I’m sorry._

✧

 

Hinata does not see him again for two years.


End file.
